
j7C£ 
£ 






- — 



T7 






THE RIVIERA OF THE 
GORNIGHE ROAD 




A RIVIERA GARDEN. 



The Riviera of the 
Corniche Road 



BY 

SIR FREDERICK TREVES, BART. 

G.C.V.O., C.B., LL.D. 

Serjeant-Surgeon to His Majesty the King ; Author of " The 
Other Side of the Lantern," "The Cradle of the Deep," 
" The Country of the Ring and the Book," " High- 
ways and By-ways of Dorset," etc. etc. 



Illustrated by 92 Photographs by the Author 



New York 

FUNK AND WAGNALLS COMPANY 

1921 



**«• 



^ 



Preface 

This book deals with that part of the French Riviera 
which is commanded by the Great Corniche Road — the 
part between Nice and Mentone — together with such 
places as are within easy reach of the Road. 

I am obliged to the proprietors of the Times for 
permission to reprint an article of mine contributed 
to that journal in March, 1920. It appears as 
Chapter xxxvii. 

I am much indebted to Dr. Hagberg Wright, of the 
London Library, for invaluable help in the collecting 
of certain historical data. 

FREDERICK TREVES. 



Monte Carlo, 

Christmas, 1920 



Contents 



CHAPTER 

1. Early Days in the Riviera 

2. The Corniche Road . 

3. Nice : The Promenade des Anglais 

4. Nice : The Old Town 

5. The Siege of Nice 

6. Cimiez and St. Pons . 

7. How the Convent of St. Pons came to an End 

8. Vence, the Defender of the Faith 

9. Vence, the Town 

10. Grasse ..... 

11. A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

12. Cagnes and St. Paul du Var 

13. Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

14. The Story of Eze 

15. The Troubadours of Eze 

16. How Eze was Betrayed 

17. The Town that Cannot Forget . 

18. The Harbour of Monaco . 

19. The Rock of Monaco 

20. A Fateful Christmas Eve . 

21. Charles the Seaman . 

22. The Lucien Murder . 

vii 







PAGE 


. 




1 


• 




8 
14 
19 


. 




29 


. 




36 


to an 


End 


41 


. 




49 


. 




59 


. 




67 


f Grasse 


80 


• 




97 
104 


• • 




118 


• • 




123 


• • 




, 127 


• 




. 135 


« 




143 


• 




151 


• 




161 


• 




165 


• • 




. 170 



Contents 



CHAPTER 

23. How the Spaniards were got rid of 

24. A Matter of Etiquette 

25. The Monte Carlo of the Novelist 

26. Monte Carlo .... 

27. Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

28. An Old Roman Posting Town . 

29. The Tower of Victory 

30. La Turbie of To-day 

31. The Convent of Laghet 

32. The City of Peter Pan 

33. The Legend of Roquebrune 

34. Some Memories of Roquebrune . 

35. Gallows Hill .... 

36. Mentone 

37. The First Visitors to the Riviera 

38. Castillon ..... 

39. Sospel 

40. Sospel and the Wild Boar 

41. Two Queer Old Towns 



PAGE 

176 
181 

187 
191 
195 
206 
214 
224 
231 
239 
248 
252 
259 
265 
273 
281 
286 
294 
297 



VJll 



List of Illustrations 



A Riviera Garden 

At the Bend of the Road . 
Nice: The Old Terraces 
Nice: Rue du Senat . 
Nice: A Street in the Old Town 
Cimiez: The Roman Amphitheatre 
Cimiez: The Marble Cross . 
Cimiez: The Monastery Well 
Vence: The East Gate and Outer Wall 
Vence: The Church and Court of Bishop's Palace 
Vence: Old House in the Place Godeau 
Vence: Rue de la Coste 
Grasse: The de Cabris House 
Grasse : The Cathedral 
Grasse: The Place aux Aires 
Grasse: Rue de l'Eveche 
Grasse: Rue sans Peur 
Cagnes .... 
Cagnes : The Town Gate 
Cagnes : The Place Grimaldi 
Cagnes : The Castle 
St. Paul du Var 
St. Paul du Var: The Entry 
St. Paul du Var: The Main Gate 
St. Paul du Var: A Side Street . 
St. Paul du Var : A Shop of the Mediaeval Type 

ix 



Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

8 

16 

26 

32 

36 

40 

40 

52 

58 

62 

62 

68 

72 

76 

80 

90 

96 

98 

100 

100 

102 

102 

102 

104 

104 



List of Illustrations 



FACING PAGE 


Cap de St. Hospice ...... 


. 108 


St. Hospice: The Madonna and the Tower . 


108 


Villefranche ....... 


. 110 


Villefranche : The Main Street 


. 112 


A Road in Beaulieu ..... 


. 114 


Eze 


. 120 


Eze: The Main Gate 


. 124 


A Street in Eze ....... 


. 134 


Eze : On the Way to the Castle .... 


. 138 


Eze : All that Remains of the Castle . 


. 138 


Cap d'Ail, near Monaco ..... 


. 144 


Monaco ........ 


148 


Monaco: The Sentry Tower on the Rampe . 


. 156 


Monaco: The Drawbridge Gate, 1533 . 


156 


Monaco: The Palace . . . . . . 


. 162 


Monaco: The Old Hotel de Ville . . 


. 168 


Monaco: The Cliff Garden . . . 


. 172 


The Gorge between Monaco and Monte Carlo 


178 


The Chapel of St. Devote . . . . . 


184 


Monte Carlo from Monaco . . . 


192 


Monte Carlo: The Terrace, Christmas Day . 


196 


Monte Carlo: The Casino Garden 


. 202 


The Roman Monument, La Turbie 


. 206 


A Corner in La Turbie . . . . 


210 


A Street in La Turbie . . . . . 


216 


La Turbie : Old Window in the Rue Droite 


. 216 


La Turbie: The Old Bakehouse .... 


224 


La Turbie: La Portette 


226 


La Turbie : The Fortress Wall, showing the Roman Stone; 


3 226 


La Turbie: The Nice Gate 


228 


Laghet ......... 


232 


Laghet : The Entrance ...... 


234 


Laghet: One of the Cloisters ..... 


236 


Roquebrune, from near Bon Voyage . 

X 


240 



List of Illustrations 

Roquebrune: The East Gate 

Roquebrune: The Place des Freres 

Roquebrune: Showing the Castle 

Roquebrune: Rue de la Fontaine 

The Roman Milestones, " 603 " . 

A Piece of the Old Roman Road 

The Roman Fountain near La Turbie 

Gallows Hill .... 

Mont Justicier : The Two Pillars of the Gallows 

The Chapel of St. Roch . 

Mentone: The Old Town . 

Mentone: The East Bay 

Mentone: Rue Longue 

Mentone: A Doorway in the Rue Longue 

A Side Street in Mentone . 

A Side Street in Mentone . 

Mentone: Rue Mattoni 

Castillon: (In the snow) 

Castillon: The Entry to the Town 

Castillon : The Main Street . 

Castillon: The Main Street and Church Door 

Sospel: The Old Bridge 

Sospel: The River Front 

Sospel: The Place St. Michel 

A Square in Sospel 

Sospel : The Ruins of the Convent 

A Street in Sospel 

Sospel: The City Wall and Gate 

A Street in Gorbio 

A Street in Gorbio 

A Street in St. Agnes 

A Street in St. Agnes 



FACING SXdS 

246 
246 
252 
256 
258 
258 
260 
262 
262 
264 
266 
268 
272 
274 
276 
278 
278 



282 
284 
286 
288 
290 
292 
292 
294 
294 
298 
298 
300 
302 



XI 



THE RIVIERA OF THE 
CORNICHE ROAD 



EARLY DAYS IN THE RIVIERA 

THE early history of this brilliant country is very 
dim, as are its shores and uplands when viewed 
from an oncoming barque at the dawn of day. 
The historian-adventurer sailing into the past sees before 
him just such an indefinite country as opens up before 
the eye of the mariner. Hills and crags — alone unchange- 
able — rise against the faint light in the sky. The sound 
of breakers on the beach alone can tell where the ocean 
ends and where the land begins ; while the slopes, the 
valleys and the woods are lost in one blank impenetrable 
shadow. 

As the daylight grows, or as our knowledge grows, 
the forms of men come into view, wild creatures armed 
with clubs and stones. They will be named Ligurians, 
just as the earlier folk of Britain were named Britons. 
Later on less uncouth men, furnished with weapons of 
bronze or iron, can be seen to land from boats or to be 
plodding along the shore as if they had journeyed 
far. They will be called Phoenicians, Carthaginians or 

B I 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Phocseans according to the leaning of the writer who 
deals with them. There may be bartering on the beach, 
there may be fighting or pantomimic love-making ; but 
in the end those who are better armed take the place of 
the old dwellers, and the rough woman in her apron of 
skins walks off into the wood by the side of the man with 
the bronze knife and the beads. 

There is little more than this to be seen through the 
haze of far distant time. The written history, such as it 
is, is thus part fiction, part surmise, for the very small 
element of truth is based upon such fragments of evidence 
as a few dry bones, a few implements, a bracelet, a 
defence work, a piece of pottery. 

The Ligurians or aborigines formed themselves, for 
purposes of defence, into clans or tribes. They built 
fortified camps as places of refuge. Relics of these forts 
or castra remain, and very remarkable relics they are, 
for they show immense walls built of blocks of unworked 
stone that the modern wall builder may view with 
amazement. Nowhere are these camps found in better 
preservation than around Monte Carlo. 

In the course of time into this savage country, march- 
ing in invincible columns, came the stolid, orderly legions 
of Rome. They subdued the hordes of hillmen, broke 
up their forts, and commemorated the victory by erecting 
a monument on the crest of La Turbie which stands there 
to this day. The Romans brought with them discipline 
and culture, and above all, peace. The natives, reassured, 
came down from their retreats among the heights and 
established themselves in the towns which were springing 
up by the edge of the sea. The Condamine of Monaco, 
for example, was inhabited during the first century of 

2 



Early Days in the Riviera 

the present era, as is made manifest by the relics which 
have been found there. 

With the fall of the Roman Empire peace vanished 
and the whole country lapsed again into barbarism. It 
was overrun from Marseilles to Genoa by gangs of hearty 
ruffians whose sole preoccupation was pillage, arson and 
murder. They uprooted all that the Romans had estab- 
lished, and left in their fetid trail little more than a waste 
of burning huts and dead men. 

These pernicious folk were called sometimes Vandals, 
sometimes Goths, sometimes Burgundians, and some- 
times Swabians. The gentry, however, who seem to 
have been the most persistent and the most diligent in 
evil were the Lombards. They are described as " ravish- 
ing the country " for the immoderate period of two 
hundred years, namely from 574 to 775. How it came 
about that any inhabitants were left after this exhausting 
treatment the historian does not explain. 

At the end of the eighth century there may possibly 
have been a few years' quiet along the Riviera, during 
which time the people would have recovered confidence 
and become hopeful of the future. Now the Lombards 
had always come down upon them by land, so they knew 
in which direction to look for their troubles, and, more- 
over, they knew the Lombards and had a quite practical 
experience of their habits. After a lull in alarms and 
in paroxysms of outrage, and after what may even be 
termed a few calm years, something still more dreadful 
happened to these dwellers in a fool's paradise. Marauders 
began to come, not by the hill passes, but by sea and 
to land out of boats. They were marauders, too, of 
a peculiarly virulent type, compared with whom the 

3 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Lombards were as babes and sucklings ; for not only were 
their actions exceptionally violent and their weapons 
unusually noxious, but they themselves were terrifying 
to look at, for they were nearly black. 

These alarming people were the Saracens, otherwise 
known as the Moors or Arabs. They belonged to a great 
race of Semitic origin which had peopled Syria, the 
borders of the Red Sea and the North of Africa. They 
invaded — in course of time — not only this tract of coast, 
but also Rhodes, Cyprus, France, Spain and Italy. They 
were by birth and inheritance wanderers, fighters and 
congenital pirates. They spread terror wherever they 
went, and their history may be soberly described as 
"awful." They probably appeared at their worst in 
Provence and at their best in Spain, where they 
introduced ordered government, science, literature and 
commerce, and left behind them the memory of elegant 
manners and some of the most graceful buildings in the 
world. 

As early as about 800 the Saracens had made them- 
selves masters of Eze, La Turbie and Sant' Agnese ; 
while by 846 they seem to have terrorised the whole coast 
from the Rhone to the Genoese Gulf, and in the first 
half of the tenth century to have occupied nearly every 
sea-town from Aries to Mentone. Finally, in 980, a great 
united effort was made to drive the marauders out of 
France. It was successful. The leader of the Ligurian 
forces was William of Marseilles, first Count of Provence, 
and one of the most distinguished of his lieutenants 
was a noble Genoese soldier by name Gibellino Grimaldi. 
It is in the person of this knight that the Grimaldi name 
first figures in the history of the Ligurian coast. * — 

4 



Early Days in the Riviera 

As soon as the Saracens had departed the powers that 
had combined to drive them from the country began to 
fight among themselves. They fought in a vague, con- 
fused, spasmodic way, with infinite vicissitudes and in 
every available place, for over five hundred years. The 
siege of Nice by the French in 1543 may be conveniently 
taken as the end of this particular series of conflicts. 

It was a period of petty fights in which the Counts 
of Provence were in conflict with the rulers of Northern 
Italy, with the Duke of Milan, it may be, or the Duke 
of Savoy or the Doge of Genoa. It was a time when 
town fought with town, when Pisa was at war with Genoa 
and Genoa with Nice, when the Count of Ventimiglia 
would make an onslaught on the Lord of Eze and the 
ruffian who held Gorbio would plan a descent upon little 
Roquebrune. This delectable part of the continent, 
moreover, came within the sphere of that almost intermin- 
able war which was waged between the Guelphs and the 
Ghibellines. In the present area the Grimaldi were for 
the Guelphs and the Pope, and the Spinola for the Ghibel- 
lines and the Emperor. The feud began in the twelfth 
century and lasted until the French invasion in 1494. 

This period of five hundred years was a time of 
interest that was dramatic rather than momentous. So 
far as the South of France was concerned one of the 
most beautiful tracts of country in Europe was the battle- 
ground for bands of mediaeval soldiers, burly, dare-devil 
men carrying fantastic arms and dressed in the most 
picturesque costumes the world has seen. 

It was a period of romance, and, indeed — from a scenic 
point of view — of romance in its most alluring aspect. 
Here were all the folk and the incidents made famous by 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the writers of a hundred tales — the longbowman in his 
leather jerkin, the man in the slashed doublet sloping a 
halberd, the gay musketeer, the knight in armour and 
plumes, as well as the little walled town, the parley before 
the gate, the fight for the drawbridge and the dash up the 
narrow street. 

It was a period when there were cavalcades on the 
road, glittering with steel, with pennons and with banners, 
when there were ambushes and frenzied flights, carousing 
of the Falstaffian type at inns, and dreadful things done in 
dungeons. It was a time of noisy banquets in vaulted 
halls with dogs and straw on the floor ; a time of desperate 
rescues, of tragic escapes, of fights on prison roofs, and of 
a general and brilliant disorder. It was a delusive epoch, 
too, with a pretty terminology, when the common hack 
was a palfrey, the footman a varlet, and the young woman 
a damosel. 

The men in these brawling times were, in general 
terms, swashbucklers and thieves ; but they had some of 
the traits of crude gentlemen, some rudiments of honour, 
some chivalry of an emotional type, and an unreliable 
reverence for the pretty woman. 

It was a time to read about rather than to live in ; a 
period that owes its chief charm to a safe distance and to 
the distortion of an artificial mirage. In any case one 
cannot fail to realise that these scenes took place in spots 
where tramcars are now running, where the char-a-banc 
rumbles along, and where the anaemic youth and the 
brazen damosel dance to the jazz music of an American 
band. 

When the five hundred years had come to an end there 
were still, in this particular part of the earth, wars and 

6 



Early Days in the Riviera 

rumours of wars that ceased not ; but they were ordinary 
wars of small interest save to the student in a history class, 
for the day of the hand-to-hand combat and of the 
dramatic righting in streets had passed away. 

So far as our present purpose is concerned the fact 
need only be noted that the spoiled and petted Riviera 
has been the scene of almost continuous disturbance and 
bloodshed for the substantial period of some seventeen 
hundred years, and that it has now become a Garden of 
Peace, calmed by a kind of agreeable dream-haunted 
stupor such as may befall a convulsed man who has been 
put asleep by cocaine. 



II 

THE CORNICHE ROAD 

IT is hardly necessary to call to mind the fact that 
there are several Corniche roads along the Riviera. 
The term implies a fringing road, a road that runs 
along a cornice or ledge (French, Corniche; Italian, 
Cornice). 

The term will, therefore, be often associated with a 
coast road that runs on the edge or border of the sea or on 
a shelf above it. 

There are the Chemin de la Corniche at Marseilles 
which runs as far east as the Prado, the Corniche d'Or 
near Cannes, the three Corniche Roads beyond Nice, and 
— inland — the Corniche de Grasse. 

The bare term "The Corniche Road" is, however, 
generally understood to refer to the greatest road of them 
all, La Grande Corniche. 

Of all the great roads in Europe it is probable that La 
Grande Corniche — which runs from Nice eastwards to- 
wards Italy — is the best known and the most popular. 
Roads become famous in many ways, some by reason of 
historical associations, some on account of the heights they 
reach, and others by the engineering difficulties they have 
been able to surmount. La Grande Corniche can claim 
none of these distinctions. It is comparatively a modern 
road, it mounts to little more than 1,700 feet, and it can- 

8 




AT THE BEND OF THE ROAD. 



The Gorniche Road 

not boast of any great achievement in its making. It 
passes by many towns but it avoids them all, all save one 
little forgotten village outside whose walls it sweeps with 
some disdain. 

It starts certainly from Nice, but it goes practically 
nowhere, since long before Mentone is in view it drops 
into a quite common highway, and thus incontinently 
ends. It is not even the shortest way from point to point, 
being, on the contrary, the longest. It cannot pretend 
to be what the Italians call a "master way," since no 
road of any note either enters it or leaves it. 

In so far as it evades all towns it is unlike the usual 
great highway. It passes through no cobbled, wondering 
street ; breaks into no quiet, fountained square ; crosses 
no market-place alive with chattering folk ; receives no 
blessing from the shadow of a church. Nowhere is its 
coming heralded by an avenue of obsequious trees, it 
forces its way through no vaulted gateway, it lingers by 
no village green, it knows not the scent of a garden nor 
the luscious green of a cultivated field. Neither the 
farmer's cart nor the lumbering diligence will be met with 
on this unamiable road, nor will its quiet be disturbed by 
the patter of a flock of sheep nor by a company of merry 
villagers on their way to the fair. 

La Grande Corniche is, in fact, a modern military 
road built by the French under Napoleon I in 1806. It 
was made with murderous intent. It was constructed to 
carry arms and men, guns and munitions and the imple- 
ments of war. It was a road of destruction designed to 
convey bloodshed and desolation into Italy and beyond. 
He who conceived it had in his mind the picture of a road 
alive, from end to end, with columns of fighting men 

9 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

marching eastwards under a cloud of angry dust with the 
banner of France in the van ; had in his ears the merciless 
tramp of ten thousand feet, the clatter of sweating cavalry, 
the rumble of unending cannon wheels. It was a picture, 
he thought, worthy of the heart-racking labour that the 
making of the road involved. 

But yet, in spite of all this, the popularity of the road 
is readily to be understood. It is cut out, as a mere 
thread, upon the side of a mountain range which is 
thrown into as many drooping folds as is a vast curtain 
gathered up into a fraction of its width. It is never 
monotonous, never, indeed, even straight. It winds in 
and out of many a valley, it skirts many a fearful gorge, 
it clings to the flank of many a treacherous slope. Here 
it creeps beneath a jutting crag, there it mounts in the 
sunlight over a radiant hill or dips into the silence of 
a rocky glen. 

It has followed in its making any level ledge that gave 
a foothold to man or beast. It has used the goat track ; 
it has used the path of the mountaineer; while at one 
point it has taken to itself a stretch of the ancient Roman 
road. It is a daring, determined highway, headstrong 
and self-confident, hesitating before no difficulty and 
daunted by no alarms, heeding nothing, respecting 
nothing, and obedient only to the call " onwards to 
Italy at any cost! " 

From its eyrie it looks down upon a scene of amazing 
enchantment, upon the foundations of the everlasting 
hills, upon a sea glistening like opal, upon a coast with 
every fantastic variation of crag and cliff, of rounded bay 
and sparkling beach, of wooded glen and fern-decked, 
murmuring chine. Here are bright villas by the water's 

10 



The Corniche Road 

edge, a white road that wanders as aimlessly along as a 
dreaming child, a town or two, and a broad harbour lined 
with trees. Far away are daring capes, two little islands, 
and a line of hills so faint as to be almost unreal. It 
is true, indeed, as the writer of a well-known guide book 
has said, that " the Corniche Road is one of the most 
beautiful roads in Europe. " 

Moreover, it passes through a land which is a Vanity 
Fair to the frivolous, a paradise to the philanderer, and 
a garden of peace to all who would escape the turmoil 
of the world. It is a lazy, careless country, free from 
obtrusive evidence of toil and labour, for there are 
neither works nor factories within its confines. Here 
the voice of the agitator is not heard, while the roar of 
political dispute falls upon the contented ear as the 
sound of a distant sea. 

The Grand Corniche is now a road devoted to the 
seeker after pleasure. People traverse it, not with the 
object of arriving at any particular destination, but for the 
delight of the road itself, of the joy it gives to the eye and 
to the imagination. Its only traffic is what the transport 
agent would call " holiday traffic " ; for when the idle 
season ends the highway is deserted. In earlier days there 
would rumble along the road the carriage and four of the 
traveller of great means ; then came the humbler vehicle 
hired from the town ; then the sleek motor ; and finally, 
as a sign of democratic progress, the char-a-banc, the 
omnibus, and the motor-brake. 

No visitor to the Riviera of any self-respect can leave 
without traversing the Corniche Road. Mark Twain says 
that " there are many sights in the Bermudas, but they are 
easily avoided." This particular road cannot be avoided. 

ii 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

The traveller who returns to his home without having 
"done" La Grande Corniche may as well leave Rome 
without seeing the Forum. 

The most picturesque section of the road is that 
between Nice and Eze. Starting from Nice it winds up 
along the sides of Mont Vinaigrier and Mont Gros which 
here form the eastern bank of the Paillon valley. The 
hills are covered with pine and olive trees, vines and oaks. 
There is soon attained a perfect view over the whole town 
of Nice, when it will be seen how commanding is the posi- 
tion occupied by the Castle Hill. Across the valley are 
Cimiez and St. Pons. At the first bend, as the height is 
climbed, is a tablet to mark the spot where two racing 
motorists were killed. When the road turns round the 
northern end of Mont Gros a fine view of the Paillon 
valley is displayed. This valley is much more attractive 
at a distance than near at hand. By the river's bank on 
one side is St. Andre with its seventeenth-century 
chateau ; while on the other side is the Roman station of 
La Trinite-Victor, a little place of a few houses and a 
church, where the old Roman road comes down from 
Laghet. High up above St. Andre, at the height of 
nearly 1,000 feet, is the curious village of Falicon. 
Far away, at a distance of some seven miles, is Peille, a 
patch of grey in a cup among the mountains. Northwards 
the Paillon river is lost to view at Drap. 

When the road has skirted the eastern side of Mont 
Vinaigrier the Col des Quatre Chemins is reached (1,131 
feet). Here are an inn and a ridiculous monument to 
General Massena. The hills that border on the road are 
now bleak and bare. Just beyond the col is a fascinating 
view of Cap Ferrat and Cap de St. Hospice. The 

12 



The Gorniche Road 

peninsula is spread out upon the sea like a model in dark 
green wax on a sheet of blue. The road now skirts the 
bare Monts Pacanaglia and Fourche and reaches the Col 
d'Eze (1,694 feet), where is unfolded the grandest 
panorama that the Corniche can provide. The coast can 
be followed from the Tete de Chien to St. Tropez. The 
wizened town of Eze comes into sight, and below it is the 
beautiful Bay of Eze, with the Pointe de Cabuel stretched 
out at the foot of Le Sueil. 

The view inland over the Alps and far away to the 
snows is superb. To the left are Vence and Les Gorges 
du Loup, together with the town of St. Jeannet placed at 
the foot of that mighty precipice, the Baou de St. Jeannet, 
which attaining, as it does, a height of 2,736 feet is the 
great landmark of the country round. Almost facing the 
spectator are Mont Chauve de Tourette (2,365 feet) and 
Mont Macaron. The former is to be recognised by the 
fort on its summit. They are distant about five miles. 
To the right is Mont Agel with its familiar scar of bare 
stones. Some two kilometres beyond Eze the Capitaine 
is reached, the point at which the Corniche Road attains 
its greatest height, that of 1,777 feet. 

The track now very slowly descends. When La 
Turbie (1,574 feet) is passed a splendid view is opened up 
of Monaco and Monte Carlo, of the Pointe de la Vieille, 
of Cap Martin, and of the coast of Italy as far as 
Bordighera. Roquebrune — which can be seen at its best 
from the Corniche — is passed below the town, and almost 
at once the road joins the sober highway that leads to 
Mentone and ends its romantic career on a tram-line. « 



13 



Ill 

NICE : THE PROMENADE DES ANGLAIS 

NICE is a somewhat gross, modern seaside town 
which is beautiful in its situation but in little else. 
It lies at the mouth of a majestic valley and on 
the shores of a generous bay, open to the sun, but exposed 
at the same time to every villainous wind that blows. It 
is an unimaginative town with most excellent shops and a 
complete, if noisy, tramway system. It is crowded, and 
apparently for that reason popular. It is proud of its fine 
sea front and of the bright and ambitious buildings which 
are ranged there, as if for inspection and to show Nice at 
its best. 

The body of the town is made up of a vast collection 
of houses and streets of a standard French pattern and 
little individuality. Viewed from any one of the heights 
that rise above it, Nice is picturesque and makes a 
glorious, widely diffused display of colour; but as it is 
approached the charm diminishes, the dull suburbs damp 
enthusiasm, and the bustling, noisy, central streets com- 
plete the disillusion. On its outskirts is a crescent of 
pretty villas and luxuriant gardens which encircle it as a 
garland may surround a plain, prosaic face. The country 
in the neighbourhood of this capital of the Alpes Mari- 
times is singularly charming, and, therefore, the abiding 
desire of the visitor to Nice is to get out of it. 

14 



Nice: The Promenade des Anglais 

Along the sea-front is the much-photographed 
Promenade des Anglais with its line of palm trees. It 
is marked with a star and with capital letters in the guide 
books and it is quite worthy of this distinction. It 
appears to have been founded just one hundred years ago 
to provide work for the unemployed. To judge from the 
crowd that frequents it it is still the Promenade of the 
Unemployed. 

The Promenade has great dignity. It is spacious and, 
above all, it is simple. As a promenade it is indeed ideal. 
It is free from the robust vulgarity, the intrusions, and the 
restlessness of the parade in an English popular seaside 
resort. There are no penny-in-the-slot machines, no 
bathing-houses daubed over with advertisements, no 
minstrels, no entertainments on the beach, no impor- 
tunate boatmen, no persistent photographers. If it gives 
the French the idea that it is a model of a promenade of 
the English, it will lead to an awakening when the French- 
man visits certain much-frequented seaside towns in 
England. 

A little pier — the Jetee-Promenade — steps off from 
the main parade. On it is a casino which provides varied 
and excellent attractions. The building belongs to the 
Bank Holiday Period of architecture and is accepted with- 
out demur as exactly the type of structure that a joy- 
dispensing pier should produce. It is, however, rather 
disturbing to learn that this fragile casino, with its music- 
hall and its refreshment bars, is a copy of St. Sophia in 
Constantinople. That mosque is one of the most im- 
pressive and most inspiring ecclesiastical edifices in the 
world, as well as one of the most stupendous. Those who 
know Constantinople and have been struck by the lordly 

i5 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

magnificence of its great religious fane will turn from this 
dreadful travesty with horror. It is a burlesque that 
hurts, as would the "Hallelujah Chorus* ' played on a 
penny whistle. 

It is along the Promenade des Anglais — the Pro- 
menade of the Unemployed — that the great event of the 
Carnival of Nice, the Battle of Flowers, is held every year. 
The Carnival began probably as the modest festa of a 
village community, a picturesque expression of the religion 
of the time, a reverent homage to the country and to the 
flowers that made it beautiful. It seems to have been 
always associated with flowers and one can imagine the 
passing by of a procession of boys and girls with their 
elders, all decked with flowers, as a spectacle both gracious 
and beautiful. 

It has developed now with the advancing ugliness of 
the times. The simple maiden, clad in white, with her 
garland of wild flowers, has grown into a coarse, unseemly 
monster, blatant and indecorous, surrounded by a raucous 
mob carrying along with it the dust of a cyclone. The 
humble village fete has become a means of making money 
and an opportunity for clamour, licence and display. 
Reverence of any kind or for anything is not a notable 
attribute of the modern mind ; while with the advance of 
a pushing democracy gentle manners inevitably fade 
away. 

It is pitiable that the Carnival has to do with flowers 
and that it is through them that it seeks to give expression 
to its loud and flamboyant taste. It is sad to see flowers 
put to base and meretricious uses, treated as mere dabs of 
paint, forced into unwonted forms, made up as anchors or 
crowns and mangled in millions. The festival is not so 

16 



Nice : The Promenade des Anglais 

much a battle of flowers as a Massacre of Flowers, a 
veritable St. Bartholomew's Day for buds and blossoms. 

The author of a French guide book suggests that the 
visitor should attend the Carnival " at least once." He 
makes this proposal with evident diffidence. He owns 
that the affair is one of animation incroyable, that the 
streets are occupied by une cohue de gens en delire and 
recommends the pleasure seeker to carry no valuables, to 
wear no clothes that are capable of being spoiled, no hat 
that would suffer from being bashed in, and to remember 
always that the dust is enorme. 

Those who like a rollicking crowd, hustling through 
streets a-flutter with a thousand flags and hung with 
festoons by the kilometre, and those who have a passion 
for throwing things at other people might go even more 
than once. They will see in the procession much that is 
ludicrous, grotesque and puerile, an exaggerated combina- 
tion of a circus car parade and a native war dance, as well 
as a display of misapplied decoration of extreme ingenuity. 

On the other hand, the flower lover should escape to 
the mountains and hide until the days of the Carnival are 
over, and with him might go any who would prefer a 
chaplet of violets on the head of a girl to a laundry basket 
full of peonies on the bonnet of a motor. 

On that side of the old town which borders upon the 

sea are relics which illustrate the more frivolous mood of 

Nice as it was expressed before the building of the 

Promenade des Anglais. These relics show in what 

manner the visitor to Nice in those far days sought joy 

in life. Parallel to the beach is the Cours Saleya, a long, 

narrow, open space shaded by trees. It was at one time 

a fashionable promenade, comparable to the Pantiles at 
c i 7 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Tunbridge Wells. It is now a flower and vegetable 
market. On the ocean side of this Cours are two lines of 
shops, very humble and very low. The roofs of these 
squat houses are level and continuous and so form two 
terraces running side by side and extending for a distance 
of 800 feet. 

These are the famous Terrasses where the beaus and 
the beauties of Nice promenaded, simpered, curtsied or 
bowed, and when this walk by the shore was vowed to be 
" monstrous fine, egad." 1 The terraces are now deserted, 
are paved with vulgar asphalt and edged by a disorderly 
row of tin chimneys. On one side, however, of this once 
crowded and fashionable walk are a number of stone 
benches, on which the ladies sat, received their friends, 
and displayed their Paris frocks. The terrace is as un- 
inviting as a laundry drying ground and these grey, 
melancholy benches alone recall the fact that the place 
once rippled with colour and sparkled with life as if it 
were the enclosure at Ascot. 

1 The first of these terraces was completed in 1780 and the second one in 
1844. 



18 



IV 

NICE : THE OLD TOWN 

IOOKING down upon the city from Mont Boron it is 
easy to distinguish Nice the Illustrious from Nice 
the Parvenu. There is by the sea an isolated green 
hill with precipitous flanks. This is the height upon which 
once stood the ancient citadel. On one side is a natural 
harbour — the old port — while on the other side is a jumble 
of weather-stained roofs and narrow lanes which represent 
the old town. The port, the castle hill, with the little 
cluster of houses at its foot, form the real Nice, the Nice 
of history. 

Radiating from this modest centre, like the petals of a 
sunflower spreading from its small brown disc, are the 
long, straight streets, the yellow and white houses and 
the red roofs of modern Nice. This new town appears 
from afar as an immense expanse of bright biscuit-yellow 
spread between the blue of the bay and the deep green of 
the uplands. It presents certain abrupt excrescences on 
its surface, like isolated warts on a pale face. These are 
the famous hotels. This city of to-day is of little interest. 
It commends itself merely as a very modern and very 
prosperous seaside resort. Within the narrow circuit of 
the old town, on the other hand, there is much that is 
worthy to be seen and to be pondered over. 

It is said that Nice was founded by the Phocseans about 

19 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the year 350 B.C., and that the name of the place, Nicsea, 
the city of victory, records the victory of these very obscure 
people over the still more obscure Ligurians. The 
Romans paid little heed to Nice. They passed it by and 
founded their own city, Cemenelum (now Cimiez), on 
higher ground away from the sea. Nice was then merely 
the port, the poor suburb, the fishers' town. After Cimiez 
came to an end Nice began to grow and flourish. It was, 
in the natural course of events, duly sacked or burned by 
barbarous hordes and by Saracens, and was besieged as 
soon as it had walls and was besiegable. It took part in 
the local wars, now on this side, now on that. It had, in 
common with nearly every town in Europe, its periods of 
pestilence and its years of famine. 

In the thirteenth century it fell into the hands of the 
Counts of Provence, and at the end of the fourteenth 
century it came under the protection of the Dukes of 
Savoy. Like many a worthier place it was shifted to and 
fro like a pawn on a chess-board. It had for years a strong 
navy and the reputation of being a terror to the Barbary 
pirates. These tiresome men from Barbary interfered 
with the pursuits of Nice, which consisted largely of 
robbery on the high seas. Nice did not object to the 
Barbary men as pirates but as poachers on the Nice 
grounds. The picture drawn by one writer who repre- 
sents Nice in the guise of an indignant moralist repressing 
piracy because of its wickedness, may be compared with 
the conception of Satan rebuking sin. In 1250 Charles 
of Anjou, Prince of Provence, built a naval arsenal at 
Nice. It occupied the area now covered by the Cours 
Saleya but was entirely swept away by a storm in 1516. 

In 1543 Nice — then a town of Savoy — was attacked by 

20 



Nice : The Old Town 

the French and sustained a very memorable siege, which 
is dealt with in the chapter which follows. After this it 
became quite a habit with the French to besiege Nice ; for 
they set upon it, with varying success, in 1600, again in 
1691, in 1706, and again in 1744. Finally, after changes 
of ownership too complex to mention, Nice was annexed 
to France, together with Savoy, in the year 1860. 

In Bosio's interesting work 1 there is a plan of the city 
of Nice published in 1610. Although bearing the date 
named it represents the disposition of the city as it existed 
at a much earlier period. It shows that the town was 
situated on the left or east bank of the Paillon and that it 
was divided into two parts, the High Town and the Low 
Town. The former occupied the summit of the Castle 
Hill, was strongly fortified and surrounded by substantial 
walls. On this plateau were the castle of the governor, 
the cathedral, the bishop's palace, the Hotel de Ville, and 
the residences of certain nobles. The Low Town, at the 
foot of the hill, was occupied by the houses and shops of 
merchants, by private residences, and the humbler dwell- 
ings of sailors, artisans and poor folk. In the earliest days 
the High Town, or Haute Ville, alone existed ; for Nice 
was then a settlement on an isolated hill as difficult of 
access as Monaco. In the fifteenth century the castle was 
represented only by the old keep or donjon, a structure, no 
doubt, massive enough but not adapted for other than a 
small garrison. It was Nicode de Menthon who enlarged 
the fortress of Nice and greatly increased the defences of 
the town during the century named. 

As years progressed the military needs of the time 
caused the High Town, as a place of habitation, to cease to 

1 " La Province des Alpes Maritimes," 1902. 
21 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

exist ; f oj the whole of the top of the hill was given up to 
fortifications, bastions, gun emplacements, magazines, 
armouries and barracks. It is said by Bosio that the 
private houses and public buildings within the walls of the 
High Town were abandoned in 1518 to be replaced by the 
military works just named. The whole of these works 
were finally levelled to the ground in the year 1706 by 
order of Louis XIV. 

The Low Town, la Ville Basse, was bounded on the 
south by the sea, on the east by the Castle Hill, and on the 
west by a line running from the shore to the Paillon and 
roughly represented in position and direction by the pre- 
sent Rue de la Terrasse. To the north the town extended 
as far as the Boulevard du Pont Vieux. The town was 
surrounded by ramparts and bastions. On the ruins of the 
bastions Sincaire and Pa'iroliera the Place Victor 1 (now 
the Place Garibaldi) was constructed in 1780. The posi- 
tion of the two bastions on the north is indicated roughly 
by the present Rue Sincaire and Rue Pairolliere. On one 
side of the Rue Sincaire there still stands, against the flank 
of the hill, a solid and lofty mass of masonry which is a 
relic of the defences of old days. 

There were four gates to the old town, Porte de la 
Marine, Porte St. Eloi, Porte St. Antoine, and the 
Pa'iroliera Gate. The St. Eloi and the Pa'iroliera gates 
were broken down during the great siege of 1543, and the 
others have since been cleared away. Of these various 
gates that of St. Antoine was the most important. It 
was at this gate that criminals were pilloried. A faint 
trace of the old walls is still to be seen near the end of the 
Fish Market. 

1 So named after King Victor Amadeus III of Sardinia. 
22 



Nice : The Old Town 

The Bellanda Tower was built in 1517 by de Belle- 
garde, the then Governor of Nice. It served to protect 
the city from the sea. The tower now, exists as a low 
round work which has been incorporated in the grounds of 
an hotel and converted into a "belvedere." It might, 
however, be readily mistaken for a stone water-tank. 
There was another tower, called the Malavicina, which was 
constructed to defend the town upon the land side ; but of 
this erection no trace remains. A little suburb, or small 
borough, existed just outside the old town and on the other 
side of the river. It was called St. Jean Baptiste, and was 
connected with the town by a bridge in front of the St. 
Antoine Gate. Its position is indicated by the present 
Quai St. Jean Baptiste. 

The old town of Nice is small and well circumscribed. 
It occupies a damp and dingy corner at the foot of the 
Castle Hill. It seems as if it had been pushed into this 
corner by the over-assertive new town. Its lanes are so 
compressed and its houses, by comparison, so tall that it 
gives the idea of having been squeezed and one may 
imagine that with a little more force the houses on the two 
sides of a street would touch. It is traversed from end to 
end by an alley called the Rue Droite. This was the 
Oxford Street of the ancient city. A series of narrower 
lanes cross the Rue Droite ; those on one side mount up- 
hill towards the castle rock, those on the other incline 
towards the river. 

The lanes are dark, dirty and dissolute-looking. The 
town is such a one as Gustave Dore loved to depict or such 
as would be fitting to the tales of Rabelais. One hardly 
expects to find it peopled by modern mechanics, tram con- 
ductors, newspaper boys and honest housewives ; nor do 

23 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

electric lights seem to be in keeping with the place. Its 
furtive ways would be better suited to men in cloaks and 
slouched hats carrying rapiers, and at night to muffled 
folk groping about with lanterns. One expects rather to 
see quaint signboards swinging over shops and women 
with strange headgear looking out of lattice windows. In 
the place of all this is modern respectability — the bowler 
hat, the stiff collar and the gramophone. 

The only thing that has not changed is the smell. It 
may be fainter than it was, but it must be centuries old. 
It is a complex smell — a mingling of cheese and stale wine, 
of salt fish and bad health, a mouldy and melancholy smell 
that is hard to bear even though it be so very old. The 
ancient practice of throwing all refuse into the street has 
drawbacks, but it at least lacks the insincere delicacy of 
the modern dustbin. 

Strange and interesting industries are carried on in 
doorways and on the footpath. Intimate affairs of 
domestic life are pursued with unblushing frankness in 
the open and with a singular absence of restraint. Each 
street, besides being a public way, is also a laundry, 
a play-room for children and a fowl run. 

The houses are of no particular interest, for, with a 
few exceptions, they have been monotonously modernised. 
The lanes are so pinched that the dwellings are hard to see 
as a whole. If the visitor throws back his head and looks 
in the direction in which he believes the sky to be, he will 
be aware of dingy walls in blurred tints of pink or yellow, 
grey or blue with green sun-shutters which are swinging 
open at all angles. From any one of the windows may 
protrude a mattress — like a white or red tongue — or a 
pole may appear from which hang clothes to dry, or, more 

24 



Nice: The Old Town 

commonly still, a female head will project. Women talk 
to one another from windows all day long. Indeed, social 
intercourse in old Nice is largely conducted from windows. 
If one looks along a lane, these dark heads projecting at 
various levels from the houses are like hobnails on the sole 
of a boot. The sun-shutters, it may be explained, are not 
for the purpose of keeping out the sun, but serve as a 
protection from the far more piercing ray of the 
neighbour's eye. 

A picturesque street is the Rue du Malonat. It 
mounts up to the foot of the Castle Hill by wide, low steps 
like those on a mule path. Poor as the street may be, 
there is in it an old stone doorway, finely carved, which is 
of no little dignity. At the bottom of the lane is a corner 
house with three windows furnished with grilles. This is 
said to have been at one time the residence of the Governor 
of Nice. The house in the Rue de la Prefecture (No. 20) 
where Paganini died is featureless but for its old stone 
entry, and its ground floor has become a shop where 
knitted goods are sold. 1 

In the Rue Droite (No. 15) is an amazing house which 
one would never expect to find in a mean street. It is the 
palace of the great Lascaris family. Theodore Lascaris, 
the founder of the family, is said to have been driven from 
his Byzantine throne in 1261 and to have taken refuge in 
Nice. There he built himself a palace. It could not have 
been erected in the Rue Droite, as so many writers repeat, 
since the Lower Town as a retreat for ex-emperors, had 
no existence at this period. The descendants of the exile, 
however, continued to live in Nice for some centuries, and 

1 The strange wanderings of Paganini after death are dealt with in the account 
of Viilefranche (page 114) 

25 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the present building dates, with little doubt, from the early 
part of the seventeenth century. 

The street is so narrow that it is difficult to appreciate 
the fine facade of this palace ; but by assuming the attitude 
of a star-gazer it is possible to see that the great house of 
four stories would look illustrious even in Piccadilly. It 
has a very finely carved stone doorway which leads into a 
vaulted hall. In the road outside the door are heaps of 
vegetable refuse, a pyramid of mouldy lemons and a pile 
of pea husks. From the upper windows hang bedding 
and clothes to dry. It is quite evident that the exposed 
garments do not belong to the family of an ex-emperor. 
On the main floor, or piano nobile, are seven large and 
ornate windows, each provided with a balcony. 

From the hall a stone staircase ascends in many flights. 
It has a vaulted ceiling, supported by large stone columns. 
On the wall are niches containing busts of indefinite men 
and some elaborate work in plaster. The staircase on one 
side is open to a well all the way and so the lights and 
shadows that cross it are very fascinating. Still more 
fascinating is it to recall for a moment the people who have 
passed up and down the stair and upon whom these lights 
and shadows have fallen during the last three hundred 
years. Among them would be the old count on his way 
to the justice room, the faltering bride whose hand has 
rested on this very balustrade, the tired child crawling 
up to bed with a frightened glance at the fearsome busts 
upon the jvall. 1 

The rooms on the piano nobile have domed ceilings, 
which are either covered with frescoes or are richly orna- 

1 A good photograph of this staircase will be found in Mr. Loveland's 
" Romance of Nice," page 146. 

26 




NICE: RUE DU SENAT. 



Nice : The Old Town 

merited by plaster work. There is a great display on the 
walls of gilt panelling and bold mouldings. The rooms 
are dark and empty and so dirty that they have apparently 
not been cleaned since the Lascaris family took their 
departure. Apart from the filth and the neglect the place 
provides a vivid realisation of the town house of a 
nobleman of Nice in the olden days. 

A stroll through the town will reveal many remin- 
iscences of the past, which, although trivial enough, are 
still very pleasant to come upon amidst squalid surround- 
ings. For instance over the doorway of a house in the 
Rue Centrale are carved, in a very boyish fashion, the 
letters I.H.S. with beneath them the sacred heart, the 
date 1648 and the initials of the owner of the building. 
Then again in the Rue Droite (No. 1), high up on the 
plain, deadly-modern wall of a wine-shop, is one very 
exquisite little window whose three arches are supported 
by two graceful columns. It is as unexpected as a plaque 
by Delia Robbia on the outside of a gasometer. 

There are several churches in the old town but they 
cannot claim to be notable. The cathedral of Sainte 
Reparate stands in an obscure and meagre square. It 
became a cathedral in 1531 but was reconstructed in 1737 
and its interior " restored" in 1901. Outside it is quite 
mediocre, but within it is so ablaze with crude colours, so 
laden with extravagant and restless ornament, so profuse 
in its fussy and irritating decoration that it is not, in any 
sense, a sanctuary of peace. The old town hall of Nice in 
the Place St. Francois is a small, simple building in the 
Renaissance style which can claim to be worthy of the 
Nice that was. 

There are two objects outside the old town which the 

27 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

visitor will assuredly see — the Pont Vieux and the Croix 
de Marbre. The former which dates from 1531 is a 
weary-looking old bridge of three arches, worn and 
patched. Any charm it may have possessed is destroyed 
by the uncouth structure of wood and iron which serves 
to widen its narrow mediaeval way. The cross stands in 
the district once occupied by the convent of Sainte Croix 
which was destroyed during the siege of 1543. The 
monument serves to commemorate the meeting of peace 
held in 1538 by Pope Paul III, Francois I and the 
Emperor Charles V. The cross, which is very simple, 
rises under a canopy of old, grey stone, supported by 
pillars with very primitive capitals. The cross was hidden 
away during the Revolution but was replaced in 1806 by 
the then Countess de Villeneuve. The venerable monu- 
ment, standing as it does in a busy street through which 
the tramcars rumble, looks singularly forlorn and out of 
place. 

The Castle Hill is now merely a wooded height which 
has been converted into a quite delightful public park. 
Among the forest of trees are many remains of the ancient 
citadel, masses of tumbled masonry, a half -buried arch or 
a stone doorway. There are indications also of the founda- 
tions of the old cathedral. The view from the platform on 
the summit is very fine, while at the foot are the jumbled 
roofs of old Nice. It is easy to appreciate how strong a 
fortress it was and how it proved to be impregnable to the 
forces of Barbarossa in the siege of 1543. It is a hill with 
a great history, illumined with great memories, but these 
are not encouraged by the stall for postcards and the 
refreshment bar which now occupy the place of the old 
donjon. 

28 



THE SIEGE OF NICE 

NICE, as has been already stated, was many times 
besieged. If there be a condition among towns 
that may be called " the siege habit " then Nice 
had acquired it. The most memorable assault upon the 
place was in 1548. It was so gallant an affair that it is 
always referred to as the siege of Nice. 

It was an incident of the war between Charles V and 
Francois I, King of France. A treaty had been entered 
into between these two sovereigns which is com- 
memorated to this day by the Croix de Marbre in the 
Rue de France. Charles V thought fit to regard this 
obligation as " a scrap of paper " and declared war upon 
the French king. The French at once started to 
attack Nice which was conveniently near to the frontier 
and at the same time an important stronghold of the 
enemy. 

Now in these days business entered largely into the 
practical affairs of warfare. A combatant must obviously 
have a fighting force. If he possessed an inadequate army 
he must take means to supplement it. He must hire an 
army on the best terms he could and in accord with 
the hire-system arrangement of the time. Professional 
warriors were numerous enough and were as eager for a 
temporary engagement as are " supers " at a pantomime. 

29 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

They could not be obtained through what would now be 
called a Registry Office; but there were contractors or 
war-employment agents who could supply the men en 
masse. 

Francois I, when the war began, found himself 
very ill provided with righting men and especially with 
seamen and ships, for Nice was a port. He naturally, 
therefore, applied to the nearest provider of war material 
and was able to secure no less a man than Barbarossa the 
pirate. 

It is necessary to speak more fully about this talented 
man ; for in all popular accounts of the great siege of Nice 
two persons alone are pre-eminent ; two alone occupy the 
stage — a pirate and a laundress, Barbarossa and Segurana. 
Hariadan Barbarossa was a pirate by profession, or as 
some would style him who prefer the term, a corsair. His 
sphere of activity was the Mediterranean and especially 
the shores of Africa. He had done extremely well and, 
as the result of diligent robbery with violence pursued for 
many years, he had acquired territory in Tunis where he 
reigned as a kind of caliph. He was not a Moor nor was 
he black. He was a native of Mitylene. The name 
Barbarossa, or Redbeard, had been given him apparently 
in part on account of his hair and in part from the fact 
that his real name was unpronounceable. His exploits 
attracted the attention of the Sultan of Turkey who was 
so impressed with his ability that he took him into his 
service and made him Grand Admiral of the Ottoman 
fleet. It was, therefore, with Turkish ships and with 
Turkish men that Barbarossa came to the aid of the King 
of France. 

The leader of the French troops was the Comte de 

30 



The Siege of Nice 

Grignan. He seems, however, to have been a person 
of small importance. Barbarossa was the commanding 
figure, the leader and the hero of the drama. 

The governor of Nice was a grey-headed warrior, one 
Andrea Odinet, Count of Montfort. Barbarossa com- 
menced operations on August 9th but before his attack 
was delivered he sent a formal message to the governor 
demanding the surrender of the town. The governor 
replied enigmatically that his name was Montfort. Bar- 
barossa probably perceived that the name was appropriate, 
for the hill held by the enemy was strong. He further 
informed the pirate that his family motto was " Bisogno 
tenere," which may be rendered " I am bound to hold 
on." Having furnished these biographical details he 
suggested that the Turkish admiral had a little more to 
do than he could manage. 

The position of the town, with its walls, its bastions 
and its gates, has been already set forth in the preceding 
chapter. The main assault was made on the north side 
of Nice, the special object of attack being the Pairoliera 
bastion which faced the spot now occupied by the Place 
Garibaldi. The batteries opened fire and poured no fewer 
than three hundred shots a day upon the unhappy city. 
This cannonade was supplemented by that of one hundred 
and twenty galleys which were anchored off the foot of 
Mont Boron. 

By August 15th a breach was made in the Pairoliera 
bastion, and the Turks and the French moved together 
to the assault. They were thrown back with fury. They 
renewed the attack, but were again repulsed and on the 
third violent onrush were once more hurled back. At 
last, wearied and disheartened, they retired, having lost 

3i 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

heavily in men and having suffered the capture of three 
standards. 

The poor, battered town of Nice, with its small 
garrison, could not however endure for long the 
incessant rain of cannon balls, the anxiety, the perpetual 
vigil and the bursts of fighting ; so after eleven days of 
siege the lower town capitulated, leaving the haute ville, 
or Castle Hill, still untaken. 

Barbarossa appears to have dealt with that part of 
the city which he had captured in quite the accepted 
pirate fashion and with great heartiness. He destroyed 
as much of it as his limited leisure would permit, let 
loose his shrieking Turks to run riot in the streets, set 
fire to the houses and took away three thousand inhabit- 
ants as slaves. Barbarossa — whatever his faults — was 
thorough. 

There yet remained the problem of the upper town 
on the Castle Hill. It was unshaken, untouched and as 
defiant as the precipice on which it stood ; while over 
the tower of the keep the banner of Nice floated lazily 
in the breeze as if it heralded an autumn fete day. 
The Turkish batteries thundered not against walls and 
bastions but against a solid and indifferent rock. To 
scale the side of the cliff was not within the power of 
man. The garrison on the height had little to do but 
wait and count the cannon balls which smashed against 
the stone with as little effect as eggshells against a block 
of iron. 

The view is generally accepted that little is to be 
gained by knocking one's head against a stone wall. 
The general in command of the French was becoming 

impressed with this opinion and was driven to adopt 

32 




NICE : A STREET IN THE OLD TOWN. 



The Siege of Nice 

another and more effective method of destroying Nice. 
In his camp were certain traitors, deserters and spies 
who had sold themselves, body and soul, to the attacking 
army. Conspicuous among these was Gaspard de Caiis 
(of whom more will be heard in the telling of the siege 
of Eze), Boniface Ceva and a scoundrel of particular 
baseness named Benoit Grimaldo, otherwise Oliva. These 
mean rogues assured the French general that Nice could 
be taken by treachery. They had co-conspirators in the 
town who were anxious to help in destroying the place 
of their birth and were masters of a plan which could 
not fail. Three Savoyard deserters offered their services 
as guides; and one day, as the twilight was gathering, 
Benoit Grimaldo, the three guides, and a party of armed 
men started out cheerfully for the Castle Hill. On 
gaining access to the town they were to make way for 
the body of the troops. The French to a man watched 
the hill for the signal that would tell that the impreg- 
nable fortress had been entered and, with arms in hand, 
were ready to spring forward to victory. 

Unfortunately one of the deserters had a conscience. 
His conscience was so disturbed by qualms that the man 
was compelled to sneak to his colonel and "tell him 
all." It thus came to pass that Benoit and his creeping 
company were met by a sudden fusillade which killed 
many of them. The survivors fled. Grimaldo jumped 
into the sea and saved himself by swimming. Later on 
— it may be mentioned — he was taken by some of his 
old comrades of the Castle Hill and was hanged within 
sight of his own home. 

In this way did the siege of Nice come to an end, 
leaving the city untaken and the flag still floating over 

D 33 



■ > 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the gallant height; while the discomfited pirate sailed 
away for other fields of usefulness. 1 

It is necessary now to turn to the case of the laundress 
who shared with Barbarossa the more dramatic glories of 
the siege. She is said, in general terms, " to have fought 
valiantly and to have inspirited the defenders by her 
example." As to her exact deeds of valour there is some 
obscurity in matters of detail and some conflict of evidence 
as to the scope and purpose of her military efforts. If 
her capacity for destroying Turks may be measured by 
the capacity of the modern laundress for destroying linen 
she must have been an exceedingly formidable personage. 
The story, as given by Baring-Gould, is as follows : 2 

" Catherine Segurane, a washerwoman, was carrying 
provisions on the wall to some of the defenders when she 
saw that the Turks had put up a scaling ladder and that 
a captain was leading the party and had reached the 
parapet. She rushed at him, beat him on the head with 
her washing bat and thrust him down the ladder which 
fell with all those on it. Then hastening to the nearest 
group of Nicois soldiers she told them what she had done, 
and they, electrified by her example, threw open a postern, 
made a sortie, and drove the Turks back to the shore." 

Apart from the fact that the picture of a washerwoman 
strolling about in the firing line with a laundry implement 
in her hand is hard to realise, it must be added that 
certain French accounts and the story of Ricotti differ 
materially from the narrative given. Ricotti speaks of 
Segurana as a poor lady of Nice, aged thirty-seven, who 

1 Nostredame, " History of Provence," 1614. Durante's " History of 
Nice," 1823. Vol. ii. Ricotti, " Storia della monarchia piemontese," 1861. 
Vol. i. 

2 " Riviera," by S. Baring-Gould, 1905, 

34 



The Siege of Nice 

was so ill-looking that she went by the nickname of Donna 
Maufaccia or Malfatta which may be rendered as Madame 
Ugly Face. She is said to have been possessed of rare 
strength, to have been masculine in bearing and ingrate 
or unpleasing in her general aspect. She is described as 
having performed some feat of strength with a Turkish 
standard that she had seized with her own hands. Accord- 
ing to one account she threw the standard into the moat 
and according to another she planted it upside down on 
the top of Castle Hill — a somewhat childish display of 
swagger. 

From the rather ridiculous elements furnished by the 
various records a composite story comes together which 
is as full of charm as a beautiful allegory. It tells of no 
Joan of Arc with her youth, her handsome face, her 
graceful carriage, her shining armour and her powerful 
friends. It tells of a woman in a lowly position who was 
no longer young, who was ugly and, indeed, unpleasant 
to look upon, who was the butt of her neighbours and was 
branded with a cruel nickname by her own townfolk. 
When the city was attacked and in the travail of despair 
this despised woman, this creature to laugh at, came to 
the front, fought with noble courage by the side of the 
men, shared their dangers and displayed so fine and so 
daring a spirit that she put heart into a despairing garrison, 
put life into a drooping cause and made victorious what 
had been but a forlorn hope. It was the fire and 
patriotism and high resolve that she aroused that saved 
the city she loved and earned for her the name, for all 
time, of the Heroine of Nice. Poor Madame Ugly Face 
the butt of the town! 



35 



VI 

CIMIEZ AND ST. PONS 

BEHIND the city of Nice rises the well known hill 
of Cimiez, on the gentle slope of which stand 
the great hotels. On the summit of the hill was 
the Roman town of Cemenelum, which is said to have 
numbered 30,000 inhabitants and which was at the height 
of its glory before Nice itself came into being. Through 
Cemenelum passed the great Roman road which ran from 
the Forum of Rome to Aries. It approached Cimiez 
from Laghet and La Trinite- Victor and traces of it are 
still indicated in this fashionable colony of gigantic hotels 
and resplendent villas. 

Few remains of the Roman settlement are now to 
be seen ; for the Lombards in the sixth century did their 
best to destroy it and after their cyclonic passage the 
town became little more than a quarry for stones. In 
the grounds of the Villa Garin is a structure of some 
size which is assumed by the learned to have been part of a 
temple of Apollo, together with minor fragments of walls 
which are claimed to have belonged to the Thermae. 

The most important ruin in Cimiez is that of the 
amphitheatre. It is a mere shell, but its general disposi- 
tion is very clear. In addition to a lower tier of seats 
there are remains of the upper rows which are supported, 
as in the Coliseum, on arches. The vaulted porch at the 

36 




Pi 
< 

W 

S 

f- 

E 

z 

s 
o 

OS 
E 



N 

32 

| 
U 



Gimiez and St. Pons 

main entrance is in singular preservation. The arena 
measures 150 feet in one axis and 115 feet in the other. 
It is, therefore, small and in the form of a broad oval. 
A great deal of the structure is buried in the ground, so 
that it is estimated that the original floor of the arena 
lies at least ten feet below the existing surface. The 
ruins, much overgrown with grass and brambles, have an 
aspect of utter desolation. It is said that the natives call 
the spot il tino delle fate, or the fairies' bath. If this be 
so there is assuredly more sarcasm in the conceit than 
poetic merit, for the sorry parched-up ruin would better 
serve as a penitentiary for ghosts. Through the centre 
of the amphitheatre passed at one time the road from 
Cimiez to Nice. It is now closed and the present road, 
with its tram lines, runs outside the walls of the venerable 
building. 

Near the amphitheatre and on the crest of the hill is 
the monastery of St. Francis of Assisi. It lies in a 
modest square, shaded by old ilex trees. At one end of 
the square is the cross of Cimiez. It stands aloft on a 
twisted column of marble. Upon the cross is carved the 
six- winged seraph which appeared to St. Francis in a 
vision. This marvellous work of art dates from the year 
1477. The cross, like the column, is all white and, 
standing up as it does against the deep green background 
of a solemn elm, it forms an object of impressive beauty. 
Crosses in the open are to be found throughout the whole 
of France, but there is no cross that can compare with 
this. 

The monastery was founded in 1543. The facade of 
the chapel, with its bell towers on either side and its 
central gable over a pointed window, is very simple. It 

37 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

is rather spoiled by a heavy arcade which, being recently 
restored is harsh and crude. The interior of the chapel 
is gracious and full of charm. It consists of a square 
nave flanked by narrow aisles. The roof, vaulted and 
groined, is decorated with frescoes and is supported by 
square columns of great size. At the far end, in a deep 
and dim recess, is the altar. This chancel is cut off from 
the church by a balustrade of white marble. Behind the 
altar is a high screen of daintily carved wood, gilded and 
relieved by three niches. It is a work of the sixteenth 
century. 

Many churches offend by lavish and obtrusive orna- 
ment, by glaring colours, by reckless splashes of bright 
gold, by excessive detail, all of which give a sense of 
restlessness and discord. Such churches may not unfitly 
be spoken of as "loud." If that term be appropriate, 
then this little shrine may be described as the chapel of 
a whisper. Its fascination lies in its exquisite and tender 
colouring which conveys a sense of supreme quietude 
and peace. It is difficult to say of what its colouring 
consists for it is so delicate and so subdued. There is a 
gentle impression of faint tints, of the lightest coral pink, 
of white, of grey, of a hazy blue. The general effect is 
that of a piece of old brocade, the colours of which are so 
faded and so soft that all details of the pattern have been 
lost. The light in the church is that of summer twilight. 
The altar is almost lost in the shadow. The screen behind 
it is merely such a background of old gold as that upon 
which the face of a saint was painted in the early days of 
art. The marble rail is a line of white and in the gloom 
of the chancel is the light of one tiny red lamp — a mere 
still spark. 

38 



Cimiez and St. Pons 

In two of the side chapels are paintings by Ludovici 
Brea of Nice of about the year 1512. By the side of 
the church is the monastery which is now deserted. A 
corridor leads to a little courtyard, with a well in the 
centre, and around it a plain white-walled cloister. 
Beyond this is an enclosed garden shut in also by a 
cloister of pale arches in the shadows of which are the 
doors of the monastery cells. The garden is in a state 
of utter neglect ; but in it still flourish palms and bamboos, 
orange trees and a few despondent flowers. 

That side of the hill of Cimiez which looks towards 
the east is somewhat steep, and the zigzag road which 
traverses it leads down to the broad, open valley of the 
Paillon river. Near the foot of the hill and on a little 
promontory just above the level floor of the valley stands 
the Abbey of St. Pons. The name, St. Pons, is given to 
the district around which forms a scattered suburb of 
Nice. The place is still green, for it abounds with gardens 
and orange groves; but it is being "developed " and is 
becoming a semi-industrial quarter, very devoid of attrac- 
tion. There are factories in St. Pons, together with 
workshops and depressing houses, a tram line and — 
across the river — a desert of railway sidings. It possesses 
many cafes which, on the strength of a few orange trees, 
a palm or two and an arbour, make a meretricious claim 
to be rural. From all these objects the abbey is happily 
removed; but its position is neither so romantic nor so 
picturesque as its past history would suggest. 

The present abbey church is a drab, uninteresting 
building with a prominent tower. It was built about the 
end of the sixteenth century. The monastery is occupied 
by an asylum for the insane. The Abbey of St. Pons is 

39 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

of great antiquity, since it dates from the eighth century 
and it is claimed that Charlemagne sojourned there on 
two occasions. It stands on the site of ancient Roman 
buildings, for numerous remains of that period have been 
unearthed, among which are an altar to Apollo, many 
sarcophagi and some inscribed stones. 

There was also a convent at St. Pons long centuries 
ago. Its precise position is a matter of doubt ; for, so 
far as I can ascertain, no trace of the building can now 
be pointed out with assurance. In the history of St. Pons 
this convent plays a conspicuous, if momentary part. The 
episode is deplorable for it concerns the dramatic circum- 
stances under which the convent came to an end. 



40 




ai 
W 
H 
en 

o 



u 




N 



yn 

how; the convent OF ST. pons came to an end 

ON a kindly afternoon in St. Martin's summer, 
when the shadows were lengthening and the beech 
woods were carpeted with copper and gold, a 
party of gallants were making their way back to Nice 
after a day's ramble among the hills. It was in the year 
1408, when this poor worried world was still young and 
thoughtless. They were strolling idly down the valley 
of St. Pons, loath to return to their cramped, dull 
palaces on the Castle Hill, when a storm began to rumble 
up from the south and the sky to become black and 
threatening. Slashed doublets and silken hose and caps 
of miniver are soon made mean by the rain; so the 
question arose as to a place of shelter. 

At the moment when the first large ominous drops 
were falling the little party chanced to be near by the 
convent of St. Pons. It is a bold thing for a company 
of gay young men to approach a retreat of nuns ; but the 
wind was already howling, the blast was chill and these 
youths were bold. The door was opened, not by an 
austere creature with a repellent frown, but by a comely 
serving sister of joyous countenance. The youths, adopt- 
ing that abject humility which men assume when they find 
themselves where they ought not to be, begged meekly 
for shelter from the rain. Without demur and, indeed, 

4i 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

with effusion the fair janitor bade them welcome and 
asked them to come in. The young men, whose faces 
until now were solemn, as was befitting to a sacred place, 
began to smile and to appear normal. The serving 
sister, with a winning curtsey, said she would call the 
abbess. 

At this announcement the smile vanished from the 
lips of the refugees. An abbess was a terrible and 
awe-inspiring thing, something that was stout and red, 
imperious and chilling, inclined to wrath and very severe 
in all matters relating to young men. A few turned as 
if to make for the outer door ; while one — who had held 
an outpost in a siege — whispered to his friend " Now we 
are in for it ! " After a period of acute suspense an 
inner door opened and the abbess appeared. She was 
stout, it is true ; but it was a very comfortable, embrace- 
inviting stoutness. She was red ; but it was the ruddy 
glow of a ripe apple. Her face was sunny, her mouth 
smiling and her manner warm. In age she was just 
past the meridian. She was, indeed, the embodiment of 
St. Martin's summer. 

She greeted the new-comers with heartiness ; laughed 
at their timidity ; asked them what they were frightened 
at and told them, with no conventual restraint, that she 
was delighted to see them. When one mumbled some- 
thing about being driven in by the rain she said, with a 
coy glance at her guests, that rain was much wanted just 
then about the convent. She put them at their ease. She 
chattered and warbled as one who loves to talk. Her 
voice rippled through the solemn hall like the song of a 
full-breasted thrush. She asked them their names and 
what they were doing. She wanted to hear the lighter 

42 



How the Convent of St. Pons Ended 

gossip of Castle Hill and to be told of the scrapes in which 
they were involved and of the bearing of their lady loves. 
She twitted a handsome knight upon his good looks and 
caused a shy seigneur to stammer till he blushed. 

It must not be supposed that she was an ordinary 
abbess or a type of the reverend lady who should control 
the lives and mould the conduct of quiet nuns. Indeed 
the recorder of this chronicle viewed her with disapproval 
and applied harsh terms to her ; for in his description of 
this merry, fun-loving and comfortable person he uses 
such disagreeable expressions as mondaine and bonne 
viveuse. 1 

As the rain was still beating on the convent roofs and 
as the young men had travelled far the abbess invited 
them into the refectory, a white, hollow room with bare 
table and stiff chairs. Here wine was placed before them, 
of rare quality and in copious amount ; while — sad as it 
may be to tell the truth — nuns began to sidle timidly into 
the room, one by one. Whatever might be the comment 
the fact cannot be concealed that the grim refectory was 
soon buzzing with as merry a company as ever came 
together and one very unusual within the walls of a 
convent. 

The time was drawing near for the evening service. 
Whether the abbess invited the young men to join in the 
devotions proper to the house, or whether the young men, 
out of politeness, suggested that they should attend I am 
unable to state, for the historian is silent upon this point. 

The service proceeded. The male members of the 
congregation were, I am afraid, inattentive. They were 
tired; they had passed through an emotional adventure 

1 " Legendes et Contes de Provence," by Martrin-Donos. 
43 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

and wine is soporific. They lolled in their seats; some 
rested their heads on the bench before them ; some dozed ; 
some even may have slept. 

In a while the nuns began the singing of the " De 
Profundis " (Out of the Depths). As they sang one voice 
could be heard soaring above the rest, a voice clear and 
beautiful, vibrating with tenderness, with longing and 
with infinite pathos. The young men remained unmoved 
save one. This one, who had been lounging in a corner, 
suddenly awoke and was at once alert, startled and 
alarmed. He clutched the seat in front of him as if 
he would spring towards the spot whence the music 
came. His eyes, fixed on the choir, glared as the eyes 
of one who sees a ghost. His countenance bore the 
pallor of death. He trembled in every fibre of his 
body. 

He knew the voice. It was to him the dearest in the 
world. It was a voice from " out of the depths," for it 
belonged to one whom he believed to be dead. He could 
not see the singer; but he could see, as in a dream, the 
vision of a piteous face, a face with eyes as blue as 
a summer lake, with lips whimsical, tantalising and 
ineffable ; could see the tender cheek, the chin, the white 
forehead, the waving hair. He knew that she who sang 
was no other than Blanche d'Entrevannes, whom he had 
loved and to whom he was still devoted. 

But a few years past he had held her in his arms, had 
kissed those lips, and had thrilled to the magic of that 
voice. Her father had frowned upon their hopes and had 
forbidden their union. The lad had been called away to 
the wars. When he returned he had sought her out and 
was told that "she is dead." He haunted every spot 

44 



How the Convent of St. Pons Ended 

where they had wandered together, only to learn the truth 
that " no place is so forlorn as that where she has been," 
and only to hear again that she was dead. 

Blanche was not dead, but, believing their case to be 
hopeless, she had entered the convent of St. Pons and, 
in a few days' time, would take the veil. 

After the service the youth — whose name was Raim- 
baud de Trects — disappeared to find the singer at any 
cost. The search was difficult. At last he met a sym- 
pathetic maid who said that Blanche d'Entrevannes was 
indeed a novice in the convent and who, with little 
pressing, agreed to convey a message to her. The message 
was short. It told that he was there and begged her to 
fly with him that night. The answer that the maid 
brought back was briefer still, for it was a message of two 
words — " I come." 

The rain continued to pour, the harsh wind blew and 
the gallant knights were still in need of shelter. How 
they spent the night and how they were disposed of I do 
not know, for the strict narrative avoids all reference to 
that matter. 

By the morning the storm had passed away and as 
the sun broke out the young men reluctantly prepared to 
take their leave. The abbess would not allow them to 
go without one final ceremony. They must all drink the 
stirrup cup together, " to speed the parting guest," as 
was the custom of the time. It was an hilarious ceremony 
and one pleasant to look upon. In the road before the 
convent gate stood the cheery abbess in the light of the 
unflinching day. In her hand she raised a brimming 
goblet and her sleeve falling back revealed a white and 
comely arm. Around her was a smiling company of 

45 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

young men whose many-coloured costumes lit up the dull 
road and the old grey-tinted rocks. Behind her were the 
nuns in a semicircle of sober brown, giggling and chatting, 
nudging one another and a little anxious about their looks 
in the merciless morning light. It was a noisy gathering 
but very picturesque ; for the scarlet and blue of the 
knights' doublets and the glint of steel made a pretty 
contrast with the row of white faces in white coifs and 
the cluster of dark-coloured gowns. It was like a bunch 
of flowers in an earthenware bowl. 

The abbess, beaming as the morning, was about to 
speak when something terrible came to pass. There 
appeared in the road the most dread-inspiring thing that 
the company of knights and nuns could have feared to 
see. It was not a lion nor was it a dragon. It was a 
bishop. It was not one of those fat, smiling bishops with 
flabby cheeks and ample girth, whose loose mouth breathes 
benevolence and whose hands love to pat curly heads and 
trifle with pretty chins. It was a thin bishop with a face 
like parchment and the visage of a hawk. He was 
frenzied with rage. He stamped and shrieked. He 
foamed at the mouth. His arm seemed raised to strike, 
his teeth to bite. 

A word must here be said to explain how it was that 
the prelate had "dropped in" at this singularly unfor- 
tunate moment, since bishops are not usually wandering 
about in valleys at an early hour on November mornings. 
It came about in this way. The old almoner of the place, 
alarmed and horrified at the conduct of the abbess and 
the irreverent and indeed ribald "goings-on" at this 
religious house, had hurried during the night to the bishop 
and had given him an insight into convent life as lived 

46 



How the Convent of St. Pons Ended 

at St. Pons. He begged the bishop to do something, and 
this the bishop did. 

The arrival of the prelate at the convent gate had the 
effect of a sudden thunder-clap on a clear day. The abbess 
dropped her cup ; the knights doffed their caps ; the maids, 
peeping behind corners, fell out of sight ; while the nuns 
stood petrified like a row of brown stones. 

The great cleric screamed out his condemnation of 
the abbess, of the nuns, of the convent and of everything 
that was in it. He shrieked until he became inarticulate 
and until his voice had sunk to a venomous whisper like 
the hiss of a snake. He dismissed the young gallants with 
a speech that would have withered a worm. Turning to 
the women he said even more horrid things. He expelled 
the abbess and the nuns from St. Pons and ordered 
them to repair at once to the convent of St. Pierre 
d'Almanarre near Hyeres, a convent notable for the 
severity of its rules. Here, as the historian says, they 
would be able "to expiate their sins with austerities to 
which they had long been strangers." 

It was in this way that the convent of St. Pons 
came to an end; for the desecrated building was never 
occupied from that day. No nun ever again paced its 
quiet courtyard; no pigeons came fluttering to the 
sister's hand nor did the passer-by hear again the sound 
of women singing in the small grey chapel. In the 
course of centuries the building fell into ruin and, year 
by year, the scandalised walls crumbled away, while 
tender rosemary and chiding brambles crept over the 
place to cover its shame. 

On this eventful morning the bishop's efforts did not 
end when he had sentenced the lady abbess and had 

47 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

swept the convent from the earth. He proceeded, 
before he left, to pronounce over the assembly the 
anathema of the Church. He cursed them all from 
the abbess standing with bowed head to the scullion 
gaping from the kitchen door. He cursed the nuns, 
the novices, the lay helpers and the maids, and had there 
been a jackdaw in the building, as at Rheims, he would, 
no doubt, have included the bird in his anathema. So 
wide and so comprehensive a cursing, delivered before 
breakfast, had never before been known. 

Two of the party — and two only — escaped the curse 
of the Church, Raimbaud de Trects and Blanche 
d'Entrevannes. It was not until the morning, when 
the whole of the company were assembled about the 
convent gate, that the two were missed. 

The historian, in his mercy, adds this note at the end 
of his narrative : "In the parish register of the village 
of Entrevannes, in the year 1408, there stands the 
record of the marriage of the chevalier Raimbaud de 
Trects to the noble lady Blanche d'Entrevannes." . 



48 



vm 

VENCE, THE DEFENDER OF THE FAITH 

VENCE is a very ancient place .with a history of 
some merit. It is said to have been, in its earliest 
days, the stronghold of a native tribe. Since it 
stands on a hill convenient in position this statement 
may probably be allowed. It had the usual infantile 
troubles of growing towns in this area. It was occupied 
in turn by the Phoenicians, Phocseans and Gauls, and 
was ravaged, in due course and in appropriate manner, 
by both Saracens and Lombards. It played but a minor 
part in those later turmoils which rent the rest of 
Provence, and was indifferently moved by the upheaval 
and the downfall of neighbouring principalities and 
powers. Vence, however, had concerns and troubles of 
its own, achievements to be proud of and dissensions to 
deplore ; for it was, first and foremost, a religious town, 
and both its greatness and its trials had an origin in 
religion. 

When the Romans came they established on this 
secluded spot an imperial city. It seems to have been 
not so much a military station as an outpost of the 
picturesque faith of Rome, a kind of Canterbury in the 
backwoods of Provence. They called the place Ventium, 
and some indication of its ancient boundaries can still 

be traced. It is known to the historian by its temples. 

E 49 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

How many of these buildings existed is a matter of 
doubt, but certain it is that the pious Roman, toiling 
up to Ventium from the coast, would see afar off, stand- 
ing up against the hills, the white columns of the temples 
to Cybele and to Mars. Of these shrines no vestige 
now remains. The stones have been scattered and have 
become mere material in the mason's hands. Some have 
helped to build a Christian church, others to found a city 
wall or to give dignity to the house of a mediaeval 
burgher. 1 

There are many Roman inscriptions still in Vence. 
They have been found in all sorts of odd places, on street 
walls, in gardens, in cellars, as well as on certain stones 
in the old church. From these fragments, as disjointed 
and as incongruous as the mutterings of a sleeping man, 
a broken history of Ventium, in the years before and 
just after Christ, has been pieced together. 

The inscriptions are, in a general way, commemorative. 
There is one, for instance, to Lucius Veludius Valerianus, 
decurion of Vence, to record the fact that he had filled 
the functions both of magistrate and of priest. With 
his name is associated very prettily that of his wife Vibia, 
for she no doubt shared both his honours and his trials. 
Vibia, we may suppose, had left the gay and resplendent 
city of Rome to follow her adventurous husband into 
the wilds of Gaul, and was not a little proud of the 
position he had made in the lonely and solemn city. 
One might guess that it was Vibia who suggested the 
inscription. It is notable, moreover, that the most 
prominent word in the whole tablet and the one in the 
largest letters is uxori (wife). Indeed, this word 

1 " Cathedrals and Cloisters of the South of France," by E. W. Rose. 

50 



Vence, the Defender of the Faith 

occupies an entire line to itself. It would seem as if 
Vibia wished to make it emphatic that she was a wife, 
and not otherwise. 

If any of the inhabitants of the old town could come 
back to life again I should especially like to witness the 
meeting, in the main street, between Vibia and her 
successor in office, the mayoress of Vence of to-day. They 
would be a strange couple, strange in dress, in bearing 
and in speech, as odd as if a person wore on one foot a 
dainty Roman sandal and on the other an American 
boot. The two ladies would have, however, this in 
common — the country they gazed across would be as 
familiar to the one as to the other. 

There is among the many writings in stone one which 
refers to the goddess Cybele and the ceremony of the 
Taurobolium. This pagan ceremony was both a sacri- 
fice and an act of purification. Its symbolism is of 
interest when viewed in connection with that of the 
Christian church which directly followed upon the old 
faith. A bull was sacrificed to the goddess. The animal 
was placed upon a grating or latticed stage over a pit. 
In the pit crouched the penitent. The blood of the 
bull, as it poured over the body of the penitent, washed 
away all sin, all impurities and stains, and gave to the 
man thus made regenerate a new and holier life. 1 

Vence was at an early period converted to Christianity. 
The identity of the missionary who brought about this 
change ts not clearly established ; but the work is gener- 
ally ascribed to St. Trophime. The body of St. Trophime 
lies in the old cathedral of Aries, in that church which 

1 " Voyages dans les Departements du Midi de la France," by A. L. Millin, 1808 
" La Chorographie et l'histoire de Provence," by Honors Bouche, 1664, p. 283. 

5i 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

bears his name. Among the ruins of the abbey of 
Montmajour, near Aries, is his cell, a little rock 
sanctuary buried in the very bowels of the earth. 

A bishopric was founded in Vence as early as 374. 
The city became a prominent and influential centre 
and its bishops were, with scarcely an exception, illus- 
trious men. Most of these prelates are buried in the 
cathedral of the town. The tombs of two of the very 
earliest, viz. St. Veran and St. Lambert, occupy chapels 
in that sanctuary. 

A famous ecclesiastic was Bishop Godeau. He was 
born in 1605 and took orders when he was thirty years 
old. He was a man of great learning and one of the 
founders of the French Academy. He was highly 
esteemed, not only by the people of Provence but also 
by the Papal Court and the counsellors of the king. 
" The epitaph of Bishop Godeau," writes Hare, " com- 
memorates the favourite of Richelieu, who obtained his 
good graces by dedicating to him a paraphrase of the 
Psalms, which begins with the words ' Benedicite omnia 
opera Domini, 9 on receiving which the powerful cardinal 
said, 'Monsieur l'Abbe, vous me donnez Benedicite, et 
moi je vous donner Grasse.' The Pope afterwards 
allowed Godeau to hold the bishopric of Vence with that 
of Grasse." 1 

The worthy bishop died as he would have wished 
to die. In Holy Week in the year 1672 he was 
singing the Tenebrse before the altar of his cathedral 
of Vence. 2 The Tenebrse represent a very beautiful 
service of the Catholic Church. A candlestick bearing 

1 " The Rivieras," by Augustus J. Hare, 1897, p. 47. 
8 " The Maritime Alps and their Seaboard," by Miss C. L. N. Dempster, 1885. 

52 



T 1 








vf- 



< 
a 

H 

O 

Q 
Z 

< 

< 





Vence, the Defender of the Faith 

fifteen candles is placed in the sanctuary. These are 
lit when the service begins. At the end of each Psalm 
or Canticle one of the candles is extinguished to express 
the desertion of Our Lord by His apostles and disciples. 
At last only one candle remains. It signifies the Light 
of the World, and when it is taken down and placed 
behind the altar it serves to symbolise the burial of the 
Redeemer of Mankind. On the occasion of the celebra- 
tion at Vence as the last candle was being extinguished 
the good bishop fell dead upon the altar steps. 

Bishop Surian who succeeded to the see in 1727 
had a somewhat romantic career. He began life as a 
shepherd boy. Finding this existence intolerable he 
ran away from home with the very inadequate sum 
of 85 sous in his pocket. Falling in with men who 
perceived his ability he was educated by them and 
admitted, in due course, to the priesthood. It is said 
that he lived as frugally when he was a bishop as he 
did when he was tending sheep on the hillside. 

On the outbreak of the French Revolution, the bishop 
of Vence, Bishop Pisani, fled and joined that vast body 
of some 4,000 priests who left the country in order to 
avoid the penalties which the Revolution imposed. 
Pisani was the last bishop of Vence, for the see was 
never restored. 

In early days Vence belonged to the bishops, the 
Church being the ruling power in the pious town. When 
Vence came into the possession of the Villeneuves — ■ 
the lords of Villeneuve-Loubet — the seigniorial rights 
over Vence were divided between the bishopric and the 
Villeneuve family. The Villeneuves fled from France 
at the time of the Revolution and although they 

53 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

returned when the Terror had passed away it was only 
to rid themselves of their lands in Provence and seek a 
habitation elsewhere. 

Vence being a devout town and one prominent in all 
ecclesiastical affairs it is no matter of surprise that it 
became deeply disturbed by the "new religion" as 
taught and stoutly maintained by the Huguenots. It 
is further no matter of surprise that the dissenters 
made this stronghold of the Church a special object of 
attack and that Vence became a conspicuous scene of 
their protestings. 

The position assumed some gravity when the Hugue- 
nots did more than protest against forms of worship 
and took to arming themselves with weapons of war. 
They went further. They became clamorous and 
threatening and made it clear that they were no longer 
to be put off by mere academic arguments or quota- 
tions from the Fathers. Moreover this conflict between 
the Protestant and the Catholic involved certain political 
issues which were outside the burning questions of 
creed; and thus it was that men were drawn into the 
quarrel to whom matters of State were more important 
than matters of doctrine. 

The trouble came to a head in 1560. The bishop at 
the time was a Grimaldi, while the castle of Villeneuve 
was possessed by his uncle, a Lascaris. On the Catholic 
side, therefore, Vence was solid and prepared to take 
prompt action to crush the revolt. A body of some 
three hundred men was raised to deal with the Hugue- 
nots, but, in spite of the all-pervading power of the 
Church there were Huguenots in Vence and the 
vicinity and they, in turn, raised men to support their 

54 



Vence, the Defender of the Faith 

cause. A Huguenot gentleman, with the pleasant name 
of Rene de Cypieres, also collected a squadron of forty 
horse to help those who espoused the reformed faith. 

Vence thus became in this fair area of France the 
Defender of the Faith. The governor of the town issued 
an order forbidding the citizens to harbour or conceal 
a Huguenot in any house, garden or vineyard. The 
bishop denounced the Protestants as "vagabonds and 
seditious men." What terms the Huguenots, on the 
other hand, applied to the bishop are not known, but 
they were certainly not lacking in invective for the 
contest was bitter. 

Life in the cathedral town must have been very 
unpleasant about this period. So keen was the dispute 
that everyone must, of necessity, have taken sides. 
Friends broke from one another after an intimacy of a 
lifetime ; lovers parted ; the Catholic wife left the hus- 
band who had turned Huguenot; while families who 
were united by ties that had endured for generations 
now found themselves scowling at one another from 
opposite camps. Children were forbidden to speak to 
old playmates, and the little girl who had been so sweet 
to her boy friend now put out her tongue at him when 
they passed in the street. 

In 1562 there seems to have been a lull in this 
unhappy quarrel and even a sign of tolerance, if not 
of peace; i?>r the Huguenots, although forbidden the 
righteous city of Vence, were allowed to hold meetings 
without its walls. 

The fire was, however, only smouldering. The 
truce was little more than a pretence. The quiet in 
the streets was ominous. Although the sun shone upor 

55 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the faithful town a black cloud that betokened a storm 
was rising in the south. In 1582, with a rumble of 
thunder and a darkening sky, the tempest burst. A 
Huguenot army was advancing upon Vence. 

It is necessary to pause here for a moment to record 
the fact that ten years before this time Vence was 
approached by a far more terrible and crafty enemy 
than the Huguenot; for in the year 1572 the army of 
the Black Death marched into the town. It crept 
through the open gates, for no one saw it. It set out 
to strangle and kill without remonstrance, for no one 
heard its footsteps. It spared neither the armed nor 
the helpless. It struck down the captain of the guard 
as he strutted on parade as well as the child who toddled 
up the cathedral steps to peep in at the door. It felled 
the lusty armourer at his forge and the maiden singing 
over her needlework. 

As many as could flee from the town fled, including 
the bishop who sought refuge in St. Paul du Var. 
Grass grew in the empty streets, the silence of which 
was broken only by the rumble of a cart laden with 
dead and the tolling of a weary bell. The passer-by, 
with his cloak drawn over his face, slunk down a by-way 
when he saw another coming. The shops were closed; 
the market-place still, or traversed by a starving dog 
seeking his master whom he would never find. Here 
a door would be standing open, day after day, because 
the very last dweller in the house had crawled out into 
the street to die, while from an open window would 
hang the head of a woman whose last cry for help had 
been unheeded. 

One would have supposed that this common disaster 

56 



Vence, the Defender of the Faith 

would have made for peace, but it only served to deepen 
the dissent; for the Catholics ascribed the visitation to 
the heresies of the Huguenots, while they, in turn, 
regarded the Black Death as a mission from God to 
punish the Church for its misdeeds. 

The position of affairs when the war burst upon Vence 
in 1582 was as follows : That corner of Provence to the 
west which bordered on Marseilles, and which would be 
behind a line drawn — let us say — from Aix-en-Provence 
to Brignolles, was in the hands of the Church party. 
On the east the Duke of Savoy, with 2,000 men, 
was moving from the Italian frontier to the support of 
his friends at Marseilles. His concern in the conflict 
was based upon political rather than upon religious 
grounds. He was, in fact, taking advantage of the 
discord that raged on his borders. Between these two 
forces was the open country, in the centre of which was 
Vence. 

Now the Huguenot army was advancing from the 
south, from the shelter of the Esterel mountains. It 
was led by a very remarkable man, by name Lesdiguieres. 
He was young, brilliant, daring and ever victorious. 
Nothing could stand in his way; nothing, indeed, dared 
stand in his way, for his very name inspired terror. 

He had two things to accomplish — one was to cut off 
the advancing army of the Duke of Savoy and prevent it 
from reaching Marseilles, and the other was to destroy 
the city of Vence, the outpost of Marseilles and the holder 
of the pass. 

Vence stood alone in the way as the Defender of the 
Faith. It was the centre stone of the position. So long 
as Vence held it was well for those who were fighting 

57 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

the battle of the Church. If the faithful city fell the 
outlook was unthinkable. 

Lesdiguieres the invincible appeared before Vence, 
surrounded it with his troops and his cannon and laid 
siege to it. It must have been a terrific conflict, for 
so much depended upon the issue, and the Vencois were 
well aware what would happen to them and their town 
if once the Huguenot captain got possession of the gates. 

Beyond the fact that the loss on the side of the 
besiegers was very great, no details as to the actual 
storming of the city nor of the deeds of the defenders 
have survived. What is known is that the great adventure 
failed. The doughty Lesdiguieres, hitherto invincible, 
raised the siege and retired again to the south beyond 
the Esterels. 

Vence was saved, the prestige of the Church upheld, 
and a turn was given to events which can only be 
appreciated by imagining what would have been the 
history of Provence, and possibly of France, had the 
faithful city fallen. 

Many of the Huguenot leaders and adherents rejoined 
the Church of Rome, old family feuds were forgotten, 
old friends shook hands again who had shunned one 
another for years, the Huguenot lover became Catholic 
and led his bride to the very altar he had fought to 
destroy. Even that hardy fighting man, the fierce, 
impetuous Lesdiguieres, came back to the Church of 
Rome. He was, it is true, long in coming, for his 
reconciliation was not made until forty years had passed 
after the great failure of his life before the walls of 
Vence. 



58 




t .'■ 1 






W 

u 

1i 

cu 
O 
E 



O 

H 

OS 

D 
O 

u 

Q 
Z 

«! 

E 
U 
OS 
D 

E 
U 

w 
E 
H 



^ 



.' - 



f 



,V> 



IX 

VENCE, THE TOWN 

ON the bend of a pleasant road some thirteen miles 
from Nice stands Vence, 1,065 feet above the 
level of the Mediterranean. It is a little place of 
about three thousand inhabitants, on the crown of a hill 
in a land of hills. Behind it rise precipitous heights 
which shield it from the north, while in front of it is 
an undulating country of pine wood and dale that rolls 
lazily to the sea. Vence consists of two parts, the old 
town and the new. The old town is a mere appendage 
to the new, and may be compared to an ancient reliquary 
attached to a gaudy piece of electro-plate in the modern 
taste. 

The old town was entirely surrounded by ramparts 
built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. On the 
summit of these was a broad way, where the defenders 
mustered when the town was attacked. Upon the northern 
front a considerable portion of the ancient ramparts still 
exists, while the terrace that capped them has become a 
modest promenade. Within and above the ramparts rose 
the town, like a castle of stone elliptical in shape. To the 
outer world it presented only a lofty and continuous wall, 
entered by certain gates, and strengthened here and 
there by towers. The wall represented the backs of the 
outer houses welded together in one unbroken barrier. 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

The fronts of these houses looked into narrow streets, 
but the outer wall was blank and blind, being pierced 
only by a few small windows, high above the reach of 
attack, and by long, narrow, vertical slits as the ground 
was neared. 

These ancient windows and these slits in the avail 
are still to be seen, but the enceinte has been broken 
in many places by casual windows of recent date and 
even by doors. Still, the walls of Vence — as viewed 
from the north of the town — have an aspect which has 
altered but little during the last four hundred years. 
They have aged, of course, but the gates are there and 
the towers still stand. 

It is on the southern side of Vence that the hand of 
the town-improver has fallen most heavily, but even 
here the ruin wrought by "reconstruction" has not 
obliterated the ancient landmarks. The Boulevard 
Marcelin-Maurel, where the tramways run, follows the 
course of the southern ramparts. The wall on this side 
has been battered in to provide up-to-date houses and 
up-to-date shops, but yet the line of the old enceinte 
remains unshaken, for the hustling, irreverent tram is 
compelled to humbly follow the curve of the town wall 
as laid down six centuries ago. 

On reaching Vence by the Nice road the first gate 
that is come upon is the Signadour Gate, which stands 
almost on the tram-lines. It is a gate of the fourteenth 
century, with a pointed arch, and it opens at the base 
of a rough, old tower. Some way to the right of it is 
the East Gate, which is much more ample, has a rounded 
arch, and passes directly through the outer wall into the 
mysterious shadows of the town. It is credited to the 

60 



Vence, the Town 

eighteenth century. 1 At the opposite end of Vence is the 
Portail du Peyra, guarded by a very massive square 
tower of great height. The gate belongs to the days of 
the good King Rene, who died in 1480, and the tower to 
the seventeenth century. The gate has evidently been 
much restored and, indeed, reconstructed. It leads into 
the Place du Peyra, a quiet square shaded by a chestnut 
tree and charmed by the babble of a fountain in the form 
of a vase, from which issues four streams. The name 
of this ancient lounging place has been recently (and 
rather precipitately) changed to Place Wilson. A very 
picturesque little gate, called the Portail Levis, opens 
on to the ramparts towards the north. It has a pointed 
arch of the fourteenth century and a channel in the 
masonry for a portcullis. It leads into the Rue de la Coste, 
one of the oldest of the old lanes of the town. In the 
Boulevard Marcelin-Maurel (which, as already stated, is 
laid on the site of the mediaeval ramparts) is a modern 
gate, with the date 1863. It has been driven through 
the houses which here form the enceinte of the town and 
opens almost directly into the church square. 

The church at Vence has many peculiarities, not the 
least being the way in which it has hidden itself from 
the eyes of the world. It is so surrounded by parasitic 
buildings that nothing of it can be seen from the outside 
except a gable end, which projects fortuitously into 
another square. Indeed, the only outward and visible 
sign of the ehurch is a door, surmounted by an image 
of the Virgin, jammed in between a cafe and a blank 
wall. The blank wall belongs to a seminary, one of the 

1 " Vence," by J. D., sold for the benefit of the Church and published at 
Vence in 1914. It is referred to in the text as " The Vence Handbook." ' 

61 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

buildings with which the church is encrusted. This 
building directly faces the new mairie, a very startling 
and effusive erection which stands where once stood a 
wing of the bishop's palace. Between the schoolhouse 
and the exuberant mairie are two dark, picturesque arches 
under a house. They represent what remains of the court 
of the palace, while the building above them is a part of 
the palace itself. The other side of this old house, having 
been left undisfigured, serves to show how stately a 
structure was this eveche of the fifteenth century. 

Now on that wall of the seminary which immediately 
faces the unblushing mairie will be found the Roman 
inscriptions to which reference has been made in the 
previous chapter (inscriptions dealing with the Taurobo- 
lium and with Valerianus and his wife Vibia). Here also 
are preserved certain carved tablets showing an interlace- 
ment of grapes and roses, mingled with confused birds ; 
while above is a smaller stone on which is depicted an 
archaic eagle of doubtful anatomy. These carvings are 
generally described as Merovingian (a.d. 500-750), but 
the author of the Vence Handbook inclines to the view 
that they are Romano-Byzantine, and suggests that they 
may have belonged to a church that stood on this spot in 
the fifth century. 

A Christian church of some kind has existed at Vence 
since the fourth century, for the first bishop of Vence, St. 
Eusebius, held office in the year 374. The present church 
dates from the tenth century, although that which now 
stands belongs to a period between the twelfth and the 
fifteenth. On entering the building there is at once a 
sense of being in a place of great antiquity. No church 
in this part of France conveys so striking an impression 

62 




w 

H 
en 

O 

u 
fid 

Q 

ffl 
D 



H 
U 
Z 







i - JHfe 



< 

w 

Q 
O 

o 
u 

cu 

H 

X 
H 



Vence, the Town 

of old age. It is dark and crypt-like and, above all, 
primitive. On each side of the nave are immense square 
pillars supporting round arches. The pillars are without 
capitals and without a trace of ornament. There are 
two side aisles roofed over by a wide gallery which looks 
into the nave through the line of arches. The galleries 
were erected in the fifteenth century to accommodate an 
increasing congregation. On each side of these aisles is 
still another aisle, which is narrow and dark and in which 
are the chapels. The church, therefore, is represented 
by a nave and four aisles. 

The side chapels are all old and beautifully decorated. 
One chapel contains the body of St. Veran, who died in 
492. The tomb — which forms also the altar — is a Roman 
sarcophagus. It presents some mysterious carving which 
is thus described in the Vence Handbook : In the centre 
are the busts of a man and a young woman enclosed in a 
large sea-shell. Below is a bird and three naked children 
playing. The rest of the surface is occupied by the waves 
of the sea. It may be conjectured that it was the last 
resting-place of a lover of the sea, who would wish to 
sleep with the waves about him, with a bird in the blue 
and with children at play on the sand. The high altar 
is of marble of many colours and the tabernacle is 
surmounted by angels' heads in white. By the altar are 
the tombs of the Villeneuves, the Lords of Vence. 

The west end of the church presents a very large 
gallery or tribune, which was placed there at the close 
of the fifteenth century. Here are the famous choir stalls 
which were transferred from the choir at the same period. 
These stalls, fifty-one in number, are of dark oak and are 
most elaborately wrought. Besides much architectural 

63 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

detail there are innumerable carvings of animals and 
plants, of human figures and of vague incidents. Some 
details, as the writer of the Handbook says, are serious, 
others are amusing, and a few are not " tres convenables." 
These exquisite stalls were the work of Jacques Bellot of 
Grasse. He commenced the work, according to Mr. 
Kaye, 1 in 1455, when he was twenty-five years of age, and 
completed it in 1495. He was, therefore, twenty-five 
when the work began and sixty-five when it was finished. 

In this gallery also is a very fine lectern, which is 
claimed to be even an earlier work than the stalls. In 
one of the chapels of the church (the Chapelle des Saints- 
Anges) is the wondrously carved door of the prevote or 
chapter house. This work is older than the stalls and is 
generally ascribed to the artist who fashioned the lectern. 
Certain Roman figures or statuettes are to be found in 
the church, one let into the pillar before the chapel of 
St. Veran, and another, that of a senator, in the wall 
between this chapel and that of the Sacred Heart. 

Behind the church is a poor, distracted-looking square, 
once the cemetery, now the Place Godeau. It is shaded 
by three large chestnut trees and contains some ancient 
houses, one notably with a two-arched Romanesque 
window and another with the date 1524 carved above the 
doorway. In the centre is a disconsolate column of bluish 
granite to which is ignominiously fixed a brass water-tap. 
This column seems to have wandered from some museum 
and to have lost both its way and its label. There are 
those who affirm that it was a gift of the Phocseans to 
the ancient town, others that it came from the temple of 
Mars ; while those who range less far believe it to be a 

1 " Grasse and its Vicinity," by Walter J. Kaye, 1912. 
64 



Vence, the Town 

Roman boundary stone or borne. From this Place can 
be seen the great watch tower of Vence, often called the 
tower of the castle. It is square and very severely plain, 
and contains the belfry and a too modern clock. The 
tower belongs to the fifteenth century, or to even an 
earlier period. From this square can also be seen a little 
lancet window of the church which is perhaps the oldest 
of its present lights. 

The town of old Vence is small and cramped. Around 
the church, crushed in between it and the city wall, is 
a maze of small streets. They still maintain the lines 
they followed long before the day when — in England — 
Elizabeth was queen. They are narrow, of course, and 
dark and crowded with houses of great age, houses of such 
antiquity that no modern mask can hide the hollow eyes 
or the shrunken cheeks. There are among them hand- 
some windows and fine entries, good mason's work and 
some decoration pitiable in its playfulness. 

The place is almost empty. Certain houses are 
deserted ; a few are ruinous, and in these the black, blank 
windows glare like the eye-sockets of a skull. Many show 
the tottering deformities of age and have become crippled, 
wizened and bent. 

This almost silent city once held seven thousand 
people. Its streets were then crowded, full of life and 
colour, of fair women and stalwart men. The wayfarer 
would need squeeze himself into a doorway to allow the 
lady in a litter to pass by, or to make room for a company 
of young gallants rollicking along arm in arm, or for the 
wedding party on its way to the cathedral close. The 
place is now hushed like a house of mourning, while in 
many a lane there may be no one to be seen. 

f 65 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

He who strolls alone through the city of Vence may 
find himself carried back into the past by some nightmare 
witchery, and imagine that he wanders in a strange 
country, amid the scenes of a half -forgotten tale. There 
is about the streets the faint, musty smell that clings to 
the leaves of an ancient missal or that hovers about the 
worm-eaten chest stuffed with lumber. To read the life 
of the town as it was in earlier times is like the turning 
over of a bundle of old letters that are fragmentary and 
partly illegible, that are strange in both the wording and 
the script, but that show now and then a sudden light that 
illumines the figure of a man or a woman who stands out 
amidst the gloom — alive. 



66 




X 

GRASSE 

RASSE lies on a green slope at the foot of shelter- 
ing hills and in full view of the sea. From its 
height of one thousand feet a glorious stretch 
of undulating country sweeps down to the Mediterranean, 
some seven or eight miles to the south. The position 
of the town is suggestive of great ease. It is comparable 
to that of a man stretched out on a bank in the sun, 
with his hands under his head, his hat tilted over his 
eyes and with a rock behind him to ward away un- 
kindly winds. It is a gentle and contented place, quiet 
and yet busy in its own peculiar way. 

The history of Grasse is modest and unemotional. 
It has always been a shy town, glad to be left alone 
and to keep itself untroubled by the world. It does 
not pretend to be very old. It is said that Roman coins 
have been discovered in Grasse, but this means little, 
for that imperious but careless people appear to have 
dropped money here and there all over the country. 
One wonders whether, when England is dug up by 
archaeologists two thousand years hence, half-crowns and 
coppers will be found among the ruins of its towns in 
anything like the profusion with which the currency of 
Rome was scattered. 

Grasse appears to emerge into the light of history 

67 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

some time in the twelfth century in association with 
Raymond Berenger and his famous seneschal Romee de 
Villeneuve. Its reputation has been largely commercial. 
Terrin in the " Precis de PHistoire de Provence " i says 
that " this town in the twelfth century supplied the whole 
of France, Italy and Spain with its famous leather, soap 
and oil skilfully purified " ; while another author goes 
further and affirms "that the whole of Europe obtained 
its soap from Grasse." 

Grasse began its career in the twelfth century as a little 
republic in alliance — for purposes of mutual protection 
— with Pisa. This form of government was maintained 
until 1226. When wars were raging in the country 
around and towns were being besieged, looted or burnt, 
Grasse remained unmoved. It looked on from a distance, 
lifted its hands in horror and went on with its soap- 
making. It was never a quarrelsome town and never 
ambitious of power. It was more keenly concerned with 
the purity of its oils and the sweetness of its scents. It 
took a motherly interest in its unfortunate neighbours 
and became a place of refuge for troubled people along 
the ever-troubled coast. 

It was fortified, but not in too serious or too aggres- 
sive a way. It was besieged, but always in a com- 
paratively gentle manner, without unnecessary noise and 
battering of walls and doors and with casualties that may 
almost be called complimentary. One siege in November, 
1589, is very fully described in the diary of a besieged 
resident, a certain Monsieur Rocomare. Mr. Kaye 

* 

1 Quoted by Mr. W. J. Kaye in his excellent work on " Grasse and Its 
Vicinity," published in 1912, a work which provides a good summary of the 
history of the town. 

68 





GRASSE : THE DE CABRIS HOUSE. 



Grasse 

quotes this record at some length. The attacking general 
appears to have been wounded early in the fray and to 
have ' ' fallen into convulsions. " ' ' Whereby , ' ' says M . 
Rocomare, " the whole camp was thrown into confusion." 
The siege proceeded in spite of the general's fit. When 
things were not going well with the town the people of 
Grasse proposed — as they always did — a treaty. It was 
accepted. By this agreement the men-at-arms of Grasse 
and as many townsfolk as wished were allowed to leave 
the city with the honours of war and with all (their 
baggage. Unfortunately the attacking army, demoral- 
ised, it may be, by the sight of their general in convulT 
sions, broke their compact, seized all the baggage and 
horses and killed no fewer than seventeen persons. The 
besiegers occupied the town and M. Rocomare had 
billeted upon him a cornet, six soldiers, ten serving men, 
some horses and a mule. This forced entertainment cost 
him 260 golden crowns ; but, worst of all, the ungrateful 
cornet, on taking leave of his host, robbed him of his 
cattle and of " other things." 

In the bitter religious wars of the time which rent 
and racked the whole adjacent country, Grasse took but 
little part. It was appropriately shocked at the spectacle 
of Christians fighting and then went on with its soap- 
making. The people of Grasse, however, had their local 
religious quarrels which seem to have been concerned 
not with matters of doctrine, but rather with questions 
of fees and emoluments and especially with burial fees. 
In these disputes over money " the clergy," as Mr. Kaye 
remarks, " seemed strangely to have forgotten their high 
calling," for they actually fought for the possession of 
coffins containing the dead, and there must have been 

69 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

regrettable scenes in the graveyard when the clerics and 
their subordinates were engaged in what was practically 
a tug-of-war over a coffin. 

The more direct afflictions of Grasse arose from the 
passage through the town of foreign troops. Over and 
over again the Cours or the Place Neuve was occupied 
by bodies of armed men, who, although they had no 
especial reason for hostile action against Grasse, yet 
behaved in a very trying and unseemly manner. They 
would march up to the town and, without adequate ex- 
planation, would demand a war bonus of as much as 
36,000 livres or more. They would billet themselves in 
the town, would smash windows, break tiles and carry 
off doors. For what purpose an army on the march 
should need doors is not made clear; but that the in- 
truders should cause a rise in the cost of living is intel- 
ligible. A writer who was in the town on the occasion 
of one of these visits says, with disgust, that wine cost 
40 centimes a pint, brown bread 25 centimes a pound, 
and eggs actually 15 centimes each. He adds a remark 
which shows how, even in little things, history may be 
anticipated, for he says : " All our fruit trees have been 
burned save a few olive trees which have been saved 
from the violence of the Germans." 

The old town of Grasse is very picturesque and 
abounding in interest. Being placed upon a slope, it 
comes to pass that its ways are steep. The houses are 
tall and the lanes are narrow, so the place is full of 
shadows. The streets ramble and wind about in that 
leisurely manner which is characteristic of Grasse, until 
they become a veritable tangle. The stranger wander- 
ing through Grasse is apt, after traversing many streets, 

70 



Grasse 

to find himself in the exact spot whence he started. 
It is not wise to ask one's way in Grasse, but merely to 
drift about, from lane to lane, until the object sought 
is stumbled on. It will be met with in time. There are 
various old houses to be seen which appertain to many 
periods. Some of them are disguised by modern plaster 
and paint, some have been "restored" to the point of 
extinction, while not a few are represented only by 
fragments. They illustrate the effect of putting new wine 
into old bottles : " the bottles break and the wine runneth 
out and the bottles perish." 

Of the old ramparts which surrounded the town in 
the fourteenth century but a trace or two remain, although 
the line they pursued can still be followed. The Boulevard 
du Jeu de Ballon represents the western side of the 
enceinte, and the Passage Mirabeau its southern part. 
Where the two met was the Porte du Cours. The eastern 
flank is indicated by the Place Neuve and La Roque 
and the rounded northern end by the Rue des Cordeliers 
and the Avenue Maximin Isnard. Of the seven original 
gates two only survive — the Porte Neuve (rebuilt in 1793) 
and the Porte de la Roque. 

The chief feature of Grasse is the Cours, a charming 
promenade just outside the confines of the old town. 
It is here that the band plays and here that the idler can 
enjoy the superb view which opens out to the sea and 
admire — if he will — the statue to Fragonard which adorns 
the spot. Leading down from the Cours into the old 
town is the Rue du Cours, a narrow lane of little shops. 
The first house in this street — a corner house, No. 2 — 
was the town mansion of the Marquis de Cabris and his 
startling wife Louise. Some account of this mercurial 

71 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

lady is given in the chapter which follows. The de Cabris 
came from the delightful village of Cabris, five miles from 
Grasse. There stands what remains of their castle, which 
was reduced to a heap of ruins at the time of the 
Revolution. 

The house in the Rue du Cours is a plain building of 
four stories, rising from a base of stone. It is of con- 
siderable size and the back of it forms a large block in 
the Passage Mirabeau. Its portal is prim and severe 
and in a strict classical style. So dull is this entry that 
it is hard to picture the frivolous and beautiful Louise 
standing on the door step, buttoning up her gloves and 
meditating some fresh devilment. It is a house that no 
one could associate with the thrilling scandal which 
buzzed about it when the mocking laughter of the little 
marquise could be heard ringing from the solemn 
windows. The house is now occupied by offices and flats 
of the gravest respectability. As if some odour of old 
days still clung to it, the walls, I noticed, were blazing 
with red and yellow posters vaunting the attractions of 
a play dealing with the allurement of women. 

Almost opposite to the de Cabris mansion, and at 
the extreme end of the Boulevard du Jeu de Ballon, 
is the ancient house of the de Ponteves family. It is a 
huge, square building, severely plain and free from any 
pretence at decoration. It has on one side a little walled 
garden which abuts on the Cours. The house has had 
a gloomy history. It was at one time the headquarters 
of the executive council of Var. During the time of 
the Terror (1793-4) it became the seat of the Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal. It has sheltered Freron — he who had 
the audacity to seek the hand of Pauline Bonaparte — * 

72 




I tt 



- 



GRASSE: THE CATHEDRAL. 



Grasse 

as well as Robespierre, who was himself guillotined in 
1794. In its salon the wretched victims denounced by 
the Revolution were tried, cursed at, and condemned, 
and through its gate they were marched to their death 
by the guillotine. The guillotine stood in the Cours on 
the spot now occupied by the statue to Fragonard. The 
prisoners who looked out of the west windows of the 
house would see this fearful instrument only a few yards 
distant and would see also the howling, savage mob that 
surged around it. Yet between the condemned andjheir 
place of death was the comfort of the little quiet garden 
shut in with its high wall. Thirty people in all were 
guillotined at Grasse during the Terror, and among them 
a poor nun over seventy years of age, whose name, by a 
strange coincidence, was de Ponteves. 

When peace was restored to France the Hotel de 
Ponteves became the municipal library and later on (in 
1811) it was swept and garnished and made ready to 
receive the Princess Pauline Bonaparte, the sister of 
Napoleon I. This beautiful woman, the " Venus victrix " 
of Canova, was at the moment forlorn and unhappy. She 
had been deserted by her second husband, the Prince 
Borghese, and banished from the Court by her brother 
on account of her disrespectful bearing towards the 
Empress. She was, moreover, ill and weary both in body 
and mind, and yet she was only thirty-one. " Out of 
consideration for the distinguished invalid the silence of 
the early morning was disturbed neither by the ringing of 
bells nor by the cries of milk-sellers in the streets; even 
the mules went without their tinkling sonnailles." 1 One 
may imagine that Pauline sat often in the little garden 

1 " Grasse and Its Vicinity," by W. J. Kaye, 1912, p. 17. 

73 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

with the high wall, and that her sedan chair would now 
and then be carried to the Cours so that she might by 
chance get a glimpse of the beloved island of Corsica 
where she was born. 

Near the Cours is the Boulevard Fragonard. In the 
house (No. 4) of the Marquis de Villeneuve-Bargemon 
will be seen the beautiful carved door that came from 
the old hotel of the Marquis de Gourdon. It was by 
the removal of the Gourdon mansion in 1858 that the 
present Place du Marche was made. No. 15 Boulevard 
Fragonard — with its curious iron window cages — was the 
residence of the famous painter after whom the Boulevard 
is named. The place of his birth was No. 2 Rue de la 
Font Neuve. 

Turning out of the Rue du Cours is the Rue Tracastel 
with its vaulted arch beneath an old tower. It is by 
way of this lane that the cathedral square may be reached. 
The church, which is the most beautiful building in 
Grasse, was completed in the twelfth century. It is small 
and low and its western facade, which looks upon the 
square, is very simple. The large pointed doorway is 
approached by an exquisite double flight of steps with 
a white balustrade. The doors themselves are finely 
carved and bear the date 1722. There are two lancet 
windows on this front and traces of two doors of the 
same date as the principal one. The walls are of light 
yellow-grey stone. The church within is as gracious as 
its western front. The nave is surmounted by a hand- 
some groined roof with square ribs, supported by heavy 
pillars without capitals. The arches of the nave are 
occupied by galleries with marble railings which are quite 
modern and painfully out of keeping with the rest of the 

74 



Grasse 

building. The south transept is occupied by the chapel 
of the Holy Sacrament, which is said to have existed 
since 1448. It is a beautiful chapel, but a little marred 
by the too elaborate ornament of a later date. There 
are many pictures of interest in the church, the most 
notable being Fragonard's " Washing of the Disciples' 
Feet," painted in 1754. 

The church contains numerous treasures among which 
is a reliquary of St. Honorat, shaped like a house and 
carved out of a solid block of walnut some three feet 
in length. It dates from the middle of the fifteenth 
century. 1 

The belfry of the church is in the form of a tall, 
white tower, square and severely simple. It is one of 
the landmarks of Grasse. It dates from 1368, but was 
shattered by lightning in 1742 and rebuilt at that period. 

Close to the cathedral is the tower of Grasse, the 
Tour du Puy, an ancient watch tower raised on Roman 
foundations. It too is square and plain, but almost 
black in colour and very menacing by reason of its great 
height and its massive strength. It is a veritable bully 
of a tower and forms a harsh contrast with the pale, 
delicately moulded and fragile-looking little church. It 
has certain modern windows, made still more incongruous 
by sun-shutters and by the ancient Romanesque windows 
which find a place by the side of them. 

There is a marble tablet on the Tour du Puy which 
is of some interest. It is to the immortal memory of 
Bellaud de la Bellaudiere. The holder of this most 
sonorous name was a poet. He was born in 1532. He 

1 A photograph and description of this remarkable relic will be found in 
Mr. Kaye's book. » 

75 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

appears to have played in Grasse the parts of Dr. Jekyll 
and Mr. Hyde ; for when he was not engaged in writing 
emotional ballads he occupied himself with thieving. He 
did well in both of these pursuits. As a poet he was 
honoured by this tablet on the tower ; as a robber he 
came to the gallows and was hanged by the neck. 

The Rue Droite, the main highway of old Grasse, is 
a narrow lane of small shops that continues the Rue du 
Cours. It is not so straight as its name suggests, being, 
indeed, a little unsteady. It contains many old houses 
of interest with fine stone doorways, some with a rounded 
and others with a pointed arch. Over one entry is the 
date 1527. At No. 24 lived Doria de Roberti who in 
1580 had the distinction of being both physician to the 
king and perfumer to the queen, a position which, at 
the present day, would be one of great professional per- 
plexity. The house is not worthy of one who is de- 
scribed as " the earliest known perfumer" ; for it is quite 
modern in aspect and is given up jointly to a cafe and 
to a shop where ready-made clothes for women are sold. 
No. 28 is a fine house, with an ancient doorway which 
is said to have borne the date 1622; while the portal of 
No. 32 has a dignity which — as is often the case — the rest 
of the building does not maintain. 

From the Rue Droite the interesting Rue de l'Oratoire 
leads, after some vacillation, to the Place aux Aires. 
This is a very charming little square, occupied in the 
centre by a double row of trees and, at the far extremity, 
by a fountain. The end of the tiny Place which faces 
the fountain has an interest which is not apparent to the 
eye. It is occupied by three quite modest houses, num- 
bered 37, 39 and 41. No. 37 is a ladies' hat shop, No. 39 

76 




GRASSE : THE PLAGE AUX AIRES. 



Grasse 

is a draper's with the inviting name " Au grand Paris '- 
and No. 41 is tenanted by a butcher. These three humble 
shops represent the spot upon which stood no less a build- 
ing than the palace of Queen Jeanne and, indeed, in the 
house No. 41 can be seen her kitchen stairs — a poor relic 
but the only one. In the chapter which follows some 
account is given of this remarkable and alarming woman 
and of certain things that she did. 

Of the many other interesting streets of Grasse it is 
impossible to speak in detail, except to draw attention 
to the fine Romanesque windows in the Rue Mougins- 
Roquefort and to those picturesque streets Rue sans Peur 
and Rue Reve Vieille which are more curious even than 
their unusual names. 

Most fascinating of all is the Rue de l'Eveche. It is 
a street of the Middle Ages, little changed and little 
spoiled. It is a mystery street full of romance and sug- 
gestion. It makes one draw one's breath. It recalls so 
vividly a score of tales of mediaeval days ; for it is just that 
narrow, winding, dim and haunting lane where thrilling 
things always happened — stabbings in the dark, pursuits 
with torches and the clang of arms, whisperings of cloaked 
conspirators, the beckoning hand and the lover with the 
panting lady in the hood. 

The business of Grasse, as is well known, is the making 
of scent, soap and refined oil. It is an ancient, famous 
and most prosperous industry. The quantity of flowers 
consumed in the perfumeries is so vast as to be hard to 
realise. 

Mr. Kaye states, in a quiet way and without con- 
cern, that four million pounds of orange blossoms and 
three million pounds of roses — to name no others — are 

11 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

swept into the iron maw of the factory every year. 
Weight is a little misleading when it deals with rose leaves 
■and mimosa blossoms so Mr. Kaye explains that, as 
regards jasmine alone, nine billions six hundred millions 
of jasmine flowers are picked by hand every year to 
provide the world with the jasmin perfume. 

"The flower harvest," he writes, "lasts nearly the 
whole year round. It begins in February with the violet 
which lasts till April. In March and April also hyacinths 
and jonquils are plucked. May marks the greatest activity 
in the harvest of roses and orange flowers, which harvest 
terminates usually in June. Mignonette and carnations 
are also gathered in this month. The jasmine is gathered 
in July, and the harvest lasts generally till October 
10th. The tuberose is also picked during August and 
September.' ' 

As the country for miles around Grasse is given up 
to the cultivation of flowers it may be assumed that the 
town lies in a Garden of Eden, dazzling with colour and 
laden with the perfumes of Araby. But it realises no 
such vision ; since flowers grown for commerce, drilled into 
unfeeling lines and treated like the turnip of the field, 
are very different from those grown for pleasure and those 
that blossom, by their own sweet will, in the wilds. They 
differ as a crate of violets knocked down to the 
auctioneer's hammer at Covent Garden differs from the 
shy, purple flowers that fringe a scented passage through 
a wood. 

Those who have any regard for flowers should avoid 
a perfume factory as they would a slaughter-house; for 
it is not pleasant to see a white company of soft orange 
blossoms lying dead at the bottom of a pit, sodden and 

78 



Grasse 

macerated, nor to watch roses being slowly boiled alive, 
nor jasmine flowers crushed to death upon the rack. 

Many hundreds of day-tourists pour through Grasse 
during the months of the winter. They come by char-a- 
bancs and motor-brakes. Their stay in the town is very 
brief, for the ' ' excursion to Grasse ' ' embraces much in 
its breathless flight. They are deposited at a scent factory 
by a not disinterested driver, and there they purchase soap 
with eagerness, as if it were the bread of life. Ninety- 
nine per cent, of these soap-questing pilgrims do not go 
beyond the factory which they appear to regard as a sort 
of shrine, even though its odour is not that of sanctity. 
To just one out of the hundred the idea may occur that 
soap of quite fair quality may be obtained in many places 
— even in Brixton in England — but that in few places 
can there be found an old French city so full of picturesque 
memories and possessed of so exquisite a cathedral as 
Grasse provides. From a hygienic point of view the 
triumph of soap over sentiment is commendable, but the 
hygienic attitude of mind is one of rigour and offensive 
superiority. The one tourist out of the hundred wanders 
into the ancient town, loses his way, loses his char-a-banc 
and returns by the tramcar, with his mind full of charming 
recollections but his pocket empty of soap. While he 
glories over the romance of mediaeval by-ways his fellow- 
tourists gloat over a wash-hand basin or a pungent 
handkerchief. 



79 



XI 

A PRIME MINISTER AND TWO LADIES OF GRASSE 

ROMEE DE VILLENEUVE.— There is a some- 
what picturesque story in the old chronicles relating 
to one Romee de Villeneuve, seneschal of Grasse 
and the premier ministre of the Count of Provence. 1 The 
count with whom the story deals was Raymond Berenger 
IV, who came into power in 1209 and died in 1245. This 
Raymond was the husband of the beautiful Beatrix of 
Savoy — the same Beatrix who inspired the passionate 
verses of the troubadour of Eze. 

Raymond the count when walking one day through 
the streets of Grasse came upon a pilgrim. The pious 
man was dressed in the robe of his brotherhood. In his 
hand was a long staff ; upon his feet were sandals and in 
his hat the cockleshell. The count was struck by his 
carriage and by the nobility of his appearance. He 
stopped him and questioned him as to his pilgrimage, as 
to the things that he had seen and learned in his journey 
through many countries and by way of many roads. The 
answers that the pilgrim gave pleased him. He was im- 
pressed by his intelligence, by the gentleness of his manner 
and the graceful sentiment that accompanied his talk. It 
was agreeable to converse with a man who had seen strange 
cities and who had gleaned such curious grains of wisdom 

1 " Contes Populaires des Provenpaux," by Beranger-Feraud, 1887. 

80 




GRASSE : RUE DE L'EVECHE. 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

in his tramp through valley and wood, by stony paths and 
smooth. 

The count talked longer with the pilgrim than the 
courtiers liked. They frowned and fidgeted, scuffled 
with their feet, assumed attitudes of weariness and talked 
among themselves rather audibly about "this fellow." 
Finally the count asked the pilgrim if he would come into 
his service and the worthy man, after some hesitation and 
with proper expressions of respect, consented. 

Romee had not been long under the castle roof before 
Raymond recognised his ability and his absolute upright- 
ness. The count and the pilgrim became more than 
master and servant ; they became friends. Many a time 
the two would sit in a corner of the terrace when the heat 
of the day was over and Romee would tell of the wonders 
of the Eternal City, of the street fighting he had seen in 
Florence between the Amidei and the Buondelmonte, of 
the new church of San Giovanni at Pistoia, of the won- 
derful bell tower they were building at Pisa, and of the 
ruins of the palace of Theodoric the Great that he had 
wandered among at Ravenna. He would talk too of 
strange things, of the savage, mist-enveloped island of 
England where the cliffs were white, of the flight of birds, 
of wondrous flowers that bloomed among the snow, of the 
hiving of bees, of the curious ways of women. 

Year by year the pilgrim rose in power ; year by year 
he took a wider part in the affairs of state ; and year 
by year the affection that bound the two men together 
deepened and gained in strength. Romee became the 
count's most trusted counsellor and confidant, and, in due 
course, was raised to the position of premier ministre and 
seneschal of Grasse. 

G 81 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

This was a terrible blow to the courtiers, the last straw 
that broke the back of their restraint. They had always 
been jealous of this interloper and hated him heartily and 
openly. To see the most dignified office that the Court 
of Provence could grant bestowed upon a stranger, a man 
stumbled upon in the street, was beyond endurance. The 
count was bewitched and befooled, they said, and must 
be awakened from his evil dream. 

The courtiers took the matter of the enlightenment 
of their prince in hand. They began to hint at things, 
to sow suspicions, to raise subjects for inquiry. Did the 
count know anything of this man, anything of his 
parentage or antecedents? The count knew only that 
Romee was a man noble in heart and mind, his trusted 
counsellor and esteemed friend. 

No seed grows so quickly as the seed of doubt. No 
hint but gains strength by repetition. Those about the 
Court, judging that the count's confidence must be shaken 
by their efforts, ventured to go beyond hinting and 
whispering and the shrugging of shoulders. They came 
one day boldly before him and said that Romee was taking 
money from the treasury, was in fact robbing the State. 
The count was furious that so disgraceful a charge should 
be made against his favourite, told the informers that they 
lied and demanded instant grounds for their base charges. 
The spokesman of the party replied that the minister kept, 
in his private room, a coffer which he allowed no one to 
touch and which no one had ever seen open. From sounds 
heard at night by listeners outside the door there was little 
doubt that in this chest Romee was hoarding money 
pilfered from the treasury. 

The speaker, with a bow, humbly suggested that his 

82 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

lordship should come with them at once to the minister's 
room and request him to open the coffer. The count 
stamped and swore. He would never subject his friend 
to such an indignity. De Villeneuve was as far above 
suspicion as himself. The proposal was monstrous. 
Some soft- voiced officer then hinted that the minister 
would be glad to put an end to these unfortunate but 
persistent rumours by simply opening the box. This 
seemed reasonable to the count, but someone, more wily 
still, whispered in his ear "Would he be so glad?" 
The seed of doubt, long sown in the prince's mind, was 
beginning to break into baneful blossom. He cried, 
" No more of this! Come with me, and we will bring 
this foul matter to an issue." 

They all made for the minister's room. Romee was 
sitting alone. He rose with extreme surprise to see the 
count, flushed and hard of face, enter with this company 
of solemn men — enemies all — who eyed him like a pack 
of wolves. The count, avoiding the gaze of his favourite, 
pointed at once to the coffer and said, " T beg you to 
open that chest." To this Romee replied, "My lord, I 
would prefer, by your grace, not to open it." " Why? " 
demanded the prince. " Because it contains a treasure 
of mine that is dear to me and to no one else." The 
courtiers began to whisper, to laugh, to jeer under their 
breath. The count, stung by their scoffing murmurs, 
lost his head, and turning to his minister said with some 
sternness, " I bid you to open that chest." Romee, look- 
ing with sadness into his master's eyes, said gently, " My 
lord, since you no longer trust me, I will open the box." 
He withdrew a key from his gown, undid the lock, and 
threw wide the lid. The chest was empty but for a few 

83 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

sorry things — a dusty, tattered pilgrim's frock, two worn 
sandals, a coarse shirt and a weather-stained hat with a 
cockleshell in it. These were the things he wore when 
Raymond Berenger met him in the street. After a 
moment of dreadful silence the count, turning to his 
courtiers, said in a voice of thunder, " Leave my presence, 
you scoundrels too mean to live." 

When the two were alone the prince, placing his hands 
upon Romee's shoulders, said, "Dear friend! I am 
humbled to the dust. I am more sorry than any words 
of mine can tell. Can you ever forgive me ? " To which 
the one-time pilgrim replied, " My lord, I forgive you a 
thousand times over ; but you have broken my heart, and 
now, in God's name, leave me and let me be alone." 

There and then Romee de Villeneuve took off his robes 
of office and, having donned the pilgrim's dress in which 
he had arrived at the castle, made his way out of the gate 
into the open road. Raymond Berenger never saw him 
again. Where the pilgrim wandered no one knows. All 
that the chronicle relates is that he died in the castle of 
Vence and that his will was dated 1250 — five years after 
the death of the count, his master. 

Many a time in the days that followed Romee's 
disappearance Count Raymond would be found standing 
alone in a certain deserted room gazing at an empty coffer. 

Queen Jeanne. — As has been said in the previous 
chapter, there was in the Place aux Aires at Grasse a 
palace of Queen Jeanne, who died in 1382. When 
Jeanne took refuge in Provence with her second husband 
— after the murder of her first — she caused this palace to 
be built. All that is left of it, at the present day, is the 

84 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

kitchen stair and a few mouldings, but, writes Miss 
Dempster, "there is not a bare-foot child but can tell 
you that those steps belonged to the palace of Queen 
Jeanne." 1 

There is no evidence that this meteoric lady ever lived 
in this house that she had built, although she was Countess 
of Provence as well as Queen of Naples. It was from 
no indisposition to travel on her part, for she was never 
quiet and never in one place long, not even when she was 
in prison. Flitting about from Provence to Naples took 
up no little of her time, and when she was not occupied 
on these journeys she was either pursuing her enemies or 
being, in turn, pursued by them. 

In the language of the history book she " flourished " 
in the fourteenth century. The expression is ineffective, 
for she "blazed" rather than flourished. She was the 
political fidget of her time. A beautiful and passionate 
woman, she traversed the shores of the Mediterranean like 
a whirlwind. Her adventures would occupy the longest 
film of the most sensational picture theatre. Tragedy 
and violent domestic scenes became her most ; but 
wherever she went there circled around her the makings 
of a drama of some kind. All the materials for a moving 
story were present. The scene was laid in feudal times 
when the license of the great was unrestrained. The 
heroine was a pretty woman who fascinated everyone 
who came in her path. She was, moreover, a wayward 
lady of ability and wide ambitions who was quite un- 
scrupulous, who felt herself never called upon to keep 
her word and who was determined to get whatever she 
wanted. 

1 " The Maritime Alps," by Miss Dempster, 1885. 
85 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

She had a somewhat immoderate taste for matrimony, 
since she was a widow four times and would probably have 
married a fifth husband had not a friend of her youth 
strangled her when she was in prison. Her selection of 
husbands was catholic, as the list of men she chose will 
show. They were, in the order in which they died, 
Andrew of Hungary, Louis of Tarentum, James of 
Majorca, and Otto of Brunswick. 

She was charged with having murdered her first hus- 
band. The charge was pressed by popular clamour and 
she was tried, in great state, in her own town of Avignon, 
in Provence, in the year 1348. The Pope himself pre- 
sided. At the trial she is said to have made a deep 
impression on the court. She startled this august 
assembly of solemn men. They saw in her a woman 
full of the tenderest charm. They were moved by her 
grace, by her ease of manner, by the sweetness of her 
voice, by her pathos-stirring eloquence, and — strangest of 
all — by her remarkable knowledge of Latin. She was 
acquitted and then publicly blessed by the Pope. 

Her loyal subjects at Naples were not satisfied with 
this tribunal. They wanted their queen tried over again. 
They were rather proud of her and they liked revelations 
of palace life. Probably too they knew a little more 
than had " come out " at Avignon. Anyhow, the Pope 
was compelled again to proclaim her innocent, and, being 
a man of the world and anxious to put himself in the 
right, he added that even if she had murdered her hus- 
band she had been the victim of witchcraft and sorcery 
and so was not responsible for her actions. 

Queen Jeanne the Unquiet was one of the most 

obstinate women that ever lived. The only way to in- 

86 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

fluence her was to put her in prison and her experience 
of prisons was large. At one time she was disposed to 
hand over Provence, or some part of it, to the King of 
France or other neighbouring potentate. To stop this 
recklessness she was arrested by the barons of Les Baux 
and of adjacent Provencal towns and locked up. Having 
promised never to alienate Provence or any part of it, 
she was let out of jail ; but she had not long been free 
before she sold Avignon, the chief town of Provence, to 
the Pope for 80,000 gold florins. As an excuse she said, 
with a smile, that she was rather short of money. 

The obstinacy of this irrepressible lady led to her 
dramatic ending. She took a very decided part in the 
controversy known as the Great Schism of the West. 
Her determined attitude led to many and varied troubles. 
Finally she was besieged in Castel Nuovo and there had 
to surrender to her kinsman and one time friend, Charles 
of Durazzo. He attempted to make her renounce the 
errors — or reputed errors — to which she clung. He 
failed, and " finding that nothing could bend her in- 
domitable spirit, he strangled her in prison on May 12th, 
1382. ,n 

Louise de Cabris. — On a certain day, in the year 
1769, there was great commotion in and around the 
mansion of the Marquis de Cabris in the Rue du Cours. 
The young marquis was bringing home his bride. The 
de Cabris represented the pinnacle of society in Grasse. 
They were the great people of the town. To know 
them was in itself a distinction. The bride belonged to 
a family even more eminent, for she was the daughter 

1 " Old Provence," by T. A. Cook, 1914, vol. 2, p. 298. 

87 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

of the Marquis de Mirabeau, of Mirabeau, near Aix en 
Provence. She was a mere girl, being only seventeen 
years of age. 

The nice, worthy people of Grasse received her with 
effusive kindness. They were sorry for her, because they 
knew the husband. He was young, weak and vicious 
and came from a stock deeply tainted with insanity. 
They took the gentle little marquise under their motherly 
wing. They petted her, made much of her and com- 
forted her in a warm, caressing way. They knew as little 
what kind of innocent they were fussing over as does a 
htm who fosters a pretty ball of yellow down that turns 
into a duckling. 

When Louise, Marquise de Cabris, reached her full 
stature, those who had mothered her viewed with amaze- 
ment the product of their care. They beheld a lady who 
was not only the terror of Grasse, but a subject for 
scandal far beyond anything that the virtuous town had 
ever dreamed of. Louise, the full-grown woman, was 
beautiful to look at, was an adept in the arts of seduction, 
was brilliant in speech and possessed of a dazzling but 
dangerous wit. She was a woman of great vitality who 
loved excitement and cared little of what kind it was. 
She was depraved in a genial kind of way, picturesquely 
wicked, had a lover, of course — a feeble youth named 
Briancon — had no heart and no principles. She could 
claim, as one writer says, "the Mirabeau madness and 
badness and all the Mirabeau brains." 1 

When the good old ladies of Grasse gossiped together 
they no longer discussed what they could do to help the 

" Les Mirabeau," by L. de 



1 " Life of Mirabeau,' 


' by S. G. Taltentyre. 


Lomenie. 






88 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

poor marquise. Their sole anxiety was to know "what 
on earth she would do next." She did a great deal. 
Incidentally she challenged another lady to fight a duel 
with pistols. Think of it ! The timid, clinging bride of 
a few years taking to fighting with firearms ! What next 
indeed ! 

Louise was much attached to her famous brother, the 
great Mirabeau, the orator, statesman and roue. When- 
ever this illustrious man was in a mess — and he was very 
often in a mess — he always came for help and sympathy 
to his nimble-minded and wicked sister. Louise was the 
only member of the Mirabeau family who attended his 
wedding with Mademoiselle Marignane, and she had 
always regarded his shortcomings with indulgence and 
even with admiration. 

One visit that Mirabeau paid to his sister at Grasse 
became memorable. The brother was in some trouble 
again. The affair had to do with his wife's lover and he 
came to his sister as to an expert in the treatment of 
lovers. 

Now shortly before his arrival the sober city of 
Grassa had passed through a species of convulsion. 
Placards had been mysteriously posted all over the town 
in which the characters of the ladies of Grasse were at- 
tacked in the coarsest and plainest language. It was 
curious that one lady's name was not touched upon. Of 
all names the name of the Marquise de Cabris alone was 
wanting. The inference naturally followed that the libels 
had been propagated by the de Cabris. There was a 
violent and confused uproar which was hushed at 
last by the payment to the injured parties of a large 
sum by the foolish Marquis de Cabris. Louise, on 

89 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

the other hand, who had no doubt written the abusive 
lampoons herself, placidly disclaimed all knowledge of the 
matter. She said, with hauteur, that they were beneath 
her notice and, at the same time, wished it to be known 
that she was very cross with those who had the audacity 
to suspect her. 

Among the society folk who had " said things " about 
Madame de Cabris in connection with the libels was her 
next-door neighbour, a certain Baron de Villeneuve- 
Monans. 

The gardens of the baron and the lady touched. 
These gardens ended in two terraces one above the other, 
like two steps. On the upper terrace the marquise had 
built a summer house which she called Le Pavilion des 
Indes. It was her Petit Trianon, her quiet corner, and 
was surmounted by a gilded goat's head, the goat's head 
being the " canting " arms of the Cabris (cabri). 

On the occasion of her brother's visit Louise gave a 
quiet dinner in her pavilion. The party consisted of her 
brother and herself, her lover Briancon and an unnamed 
lady who was invited, no doubt, to entertain Mirabeau. 
Before the meal was over the baron appeared on the 
upper terrace of his garden, in order to take the air 
before the sun went down. Louise pointed him out to 
her brother, told him what the baron had done and 
what she would do with that nobleman if she had the 
strength. Mirabeau at once jumped up from the table, 
stepped over into the baron's garden and fell upon the 
unsuspecting man with explosive violence. 

Now to introduce a comic element into a conflict 
of this kind it is essential that at least one of the com- 
batants should be elderly and corpulent and that, by 

90 




GRASSE: RUE SANS PEUR. 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

some means or another, an umbrella should be brought 
into the affair. All these factors were present. The 
baron was over fifty ; he was very fat and, as the 
evening was hot, he carried an umbrella. Excessive 
perspiration, also, is considered to be conducive to 
humour. 

Mirabeau, the statesman, flew at the fat man, 
bashed in his hat and, seizing the umbrella, proceeded 
to beat him on the head with it. Further he made 
the baron's nose bleed and tore his clothes, especially 
about the neck. 

He also kicked him. The fat baron, who was 
shaped like a melon, clung to the agile politician, 
with the result that they both rolled off the terrace 
on to the ledge below, where sober gardeners, with 
bent backs, were busy with the soil. These honest 
men were surprised to see two members of the aris- 
tocracy drop from a wall and roll along the ground, 
with an umbrella serving as a kind of axle, snarling 
like cats and using language that would have brought 
a blush to the cheek of a pirate. 

Louise, on the terrace above, was beside herself with 
joy. She screamed, she clapped her hands, she stamped, 
she jumped with pure delight. She was in an ecstasy; 
and when a fresh rent appeared in the baron's coat or 
when fresh mud appeared on his face as he rolled over 
and over, or when Mirabeau 's fist sounded upon him 
like a drum she was bent double with laughter. 

Mirabeau was of course arrested for his part in this 
entertainment and was . sentenced to two years' im- 
prisonment. The prison to which he was sent was the 
famous Chateau d'If. In his confinement, however, 

9i 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

he was consoled by thinking that he had given his 
sister the merriest day in her life. 

The Mirabeau family was a peculiar one. The 
Marquis de Mirabeau hated his daughter and she, as 
cordially, hated him. The basis of the enmity was the 
fact that Louise sided with her mother in the constant 
quarrels upon which her parents were engaged. The 
marquis, who called his daughter Rongelime after the 
serpent in the fable, contrived to have her sent to the 
Ursuline convent at Sisteron, as a punishment for her 
many and scandalous misdeeds. The sisters were, no 
doubt, pleased to receive so noble a lady; but their 
pleasure was short-lived, for at the dinner table the 
marquise used such unusual language and told such 
improper stories that the convent was soon divided into 
two parties — those who were too horrified to associate 
with her and those who could not withstand the 
lure of the beautiful woman who said such thrillingly 
dreadful things. 

Exile to Sisteron was rather a severe measure for 
the flighty Louise. Although it is one of the most 
picturesque towns in this part of France it lies far away 
among the hills, no less than 118 miles from Nice by 
the Grenoble road. This road, which is as full of 
wonders and enchantment as any road in an adventurous 
romance, did not exist in the days of Madame de 
Cabris. 

Sisteron stands in a narrow gorge through which 
rushes the Durance river. The pass is bounded on 
either side by a towering precipice. The town, which 
has only room for one long dim street, clings to a 
ledge some few yards above the torrent and at the foot 

92 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

of the loftier cliff. On the summit of this height stood 
the castle, the place of which is now occupied by a 
modern military work. In the town, besides the 
exquisite church of Notre Dame of the eleventh and 
twelfth centuries, are four isolated and very lonely round 
towers. They were built about the year 1364. They 
are put to no purpose, but simply stand in a row on 
vacant ground, looking disconsolate, as if they had 
been accidentally left behind when the other ancient 
properties of the city were removed. 

Across the river, at the foot of the gentler cliff, is 
a little wizen, sun-bleached place called the Old Town. 
It is made up of gaunt houses which show many traces 
of grandeur and of haughty bearing ; but which are 
now tenanted by a colony of poor and picturesquely 
untidy folk. At the far end of this row of ghostly 
buildings is Louise's convent, where she chafed and 
fumed, said terrible things and told un-nun-like 
stories. 

It was a bustling place in its day but it is now 
deserted and falling into ruin. Those who would realise 
the pathos and the beauty of the last days of an old 
convent should make a pilgrimage to Sisteron. The 
convent buildings are tenanted by a few humble families 
who seem to have settled here in the half-hearted mood 
of diffident intruders. There cannot be many habitable 
rooms left in the rambling building, although there is 
much space for hoarding rubbish. At one end is the 
little chapel, still almost intact, but in a state of lament- 
able neglect. It is low, has a curious rounded apse and 
a bell gable with two bells in it. One wonders who was 
the last to ring these bells, for their ropes are gone and 

93 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

they must have been silent for many years. The ringer 
may have been some bent, grey-haired nun who loved 
the bells and, hearing them sound for the last time with 
infinite sorrow, would have dropped the rope with tears 
in her eyes. 

The chapel is built of a warm, yellow stone and has 
a roof of rounded tiles of such exquisite tints of ashen- 
grey, of dull red and of chestnut brown that it may be 
covered with a rippled thatch of autumn leaves. At 
the other end of the convent is a fine campanile of sturdy 
mason's work. It is still proud and commanding, 
although its base is occupied by a stable and is stuffed 
with that dusty rubbish, that mouldy hay and those 
fragments of farm implements that the poor seem never 
to have the heart to destroy. 

Behind the chapel is a tiny graveyard which is 
symbolic of the place ; for it is so overgrown that its few 
sad monuments are almost hidden by weeds and scrubby 
bushes. The view from the convent is one of enchant- 
ing beauty. It looks down the valley of the Buech 
which joins the main river just above the town. It 
might be a glade in Paradise. 

The place is very silent. The only sounds to be heard 
are the same as would have fallen upon the ears of the 
restless marquise — the childlike chuckle of the river, 
the song of a shepherd on the hill, the clang of a black- 
smith's hammer far away and the tolling of the old 
church bell across the stream. 

Before long the illustrious Mirabeau was in another 
mess and needed once more the help of his experienced 
sister. This time he was running away with Madame 
de Monnier, the wife of a friend. Louise was still in 

94 



A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 

the convent ; but she could not resist the temptation 
of assisting her brother in this laudable and exciting 
enterprise. So she bolted from the convent, assumed a 
man's attire, armed herself and started on horseback 
with her lover Briancon to join the runaway couple. 
The movements of the party are a little difficult to 
follow. They went to Geneva, to Thonon and to Lyons. 
They had difficulties at the frontier and other mishaps. 
In some way Louise and Briancon failed Mirabeau at a 
critical moment. The lady seems to have lost her nerve 
and to have unwittingly given a clue as to her brother's 
whereabouts, so that he narrowly escaped capture. 

Briancon and Mirabeau quarrelled, flew at one 
another's throats, and were parted, with difficulty, by 
the panting marquise. This episode led to a coolness 
between brother and sister, a coolness which in time 
ended in bitter enmity. 

Then came the French Revolution which brought 
complete ruin to the de Cabris family and destruction to 
their house. Louise and her husband fled from the 
country during the Terror. When they returned to 
France they found their home at Grasse gone and their 
affairs in a state of dissolution. To add to the troubles 
of the irrepressible lady her husband had lapsed into a 
state of hopeless insanity. 

The once gay marquise, having lost estate, position 
and friends, retired to a small apparteinent in Paris 
with her sick husband. She had one daughter who was 
married and had children. 

The moralist may ask what was the end of this wild, 
rollicking and reckless woman. She did not end her 
days — as some may surmise — in a poor-house, a lunatic 

95 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

asylum or a jail. On the contrary she devoted the last 
years of her life to the care of her poor imbecile husband 
whom she nursed with a tenderness that the most loving 
wife could not exceed. More than that she applied her 
fine talents to the teaching of her grandchildren ; so that 
the last we see of the nighty marquise is a sweet-faced 
old lady, with white hair, who guides the finger of a 
child, standing at her knee, across the pages of a book 
of prayer. 



96 





CAGNES. 



XII 

CAGNES AND ST. PAUL DU VAR 

ALONG the road from Nice to Vence are two 
interesting little towns, Cagnes and St. Paul 
^ du Var. Cagnes — or rather old Cagnes — is 
perched on the top of a beehive-shaped hill on the 
confines of a plain. It looks very picturesque from the 
distance and, unlike many other places, it is equally 
attractive near at hand. 

It is an odd town in the sense that it is made up of 

odd fragments. There are no two things alike in 

Cagnes, nothing that matches. It is indeed a pile of 

very miscellaneous houses inclined to set themselves 

askew like the parts of a cubist picture. Mixed up with 

dwellings, notable by their contrariness and their obvious 

revolt against all that is conventional in the shape and 

arrangements of a house, are portions of old ramparts, 

a ruined sentry tower and a gate that has got astray 

from its connections. There is a church too that is 

apparently out of drawing, that has a lane burrowing 

under its tower and that has become wedged in among 

bits of a town on a precarious slope. It looks like a 

very decrepit sick person who has slipped down in bed. 

Curious chimneys (some of which are wonderful to see) 

form conspicuous features of the dwellings of Cagnes. 

There are houses that seem to have rather overdone 

H 97 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

their efforts to be picturesque ; as well as others that 
have carried their determination to be simple to excess. 
Of the super-simple house the old Maison commune 
affords a good example. 

Cagnes is a quiet town with a total absence of traffic 
in its streets. Indeed as if to show that the highway 
is not intended for traffic an old lady has seated herself 
in the centre of the main road to knit, rinding, no doubt, 
the light better in that position than in a house. The 
sudden way in which lanes drop headlong down the hill, 
to the right and to the left, is quite disturbing. It is 
a place of pitfalls and hazardous stairs that must be very 
trying to the village drunkard. 

The centre of Cagnes — its Place de la Concorde — is 
a peasant-like little place, humble and very still, called 
the Place Grimaldi. It is made green by a line of acacia 
trees and is bounded on one side by a row of modest 
houses, ranged, shoulder to shoulder, like a company in 
grey. The buildings at the principal end are supported 
upon arches with sturdy old pillars which give the spot 
an air of mystery. On the other side of the square a 
double flight of stairs mounts pompously to the castle. 
The square is approached by a lane which, to add to the 
fantastic character of the Place, pops out unexpectedly 
through the base of the church tower. 

There was a time, long ago, when life in Cagnes was 
very gay and when, indeed, Cagnes' society was so lively 
and so exuberant as to bring down upon the inhabitants 
a crushing reproof from the bishop of Vence. The 
reprimand was conveyed to the young men and women 
of Cagnes in a message of great harshness in which were 
unfeeling references to the pains of hell. This was in 

98 






CAGNES : THE TOWN GATE. 



Cagnes and St. Paul du Var 

1678. It appeared that the people of Cagnes had a 
passion for dancing, a passion almost as uncontrolled as 
the craze of the present day. They danced in the streets, 
the bishop stated. As there are no level streets in 
Cagnes it is probable that the Place Grimaldi was the 
scene of this display of depravity. The young people 
seem to have favoured a kind of mediaeval tango, for 
the bishop said some very unpleasant things to the 
ladies of Cagnes about their " indelicate postures and 
embraces." As to the male dancers they are described 
as " forcenes" ; so they may be assumed to have 
introduced into these street dances some of the violence 
and surprises of the madhouse. 

The dancing took place, of course, principally on a 
Sunday and the dancers excused themselves to the bishop 
by saying that the church was so exceedingly dirty that 
they did not care to enter it and, therefore, there was 
nothing for them to do on the Sabbath but either to sit 
in the shade and yawn or to dance in the streets. 

The bishop, who was clearly very "down upon" 
Cagnes, was severe too on the subject of the ladies' dress, 
or rather lack of dress. He especially found fault with 
the low-necked costume and affirmed that women had 
been seen in church " with bare throats and chests and 
without even a kerchief or scarf to veil them." It would 
be interesting to know what the bishop of Vence would 
say about the low-necked dress of to-day, which is carried 
down to the diaphragm in front and to the base of the 
spinal column behind. 

The castle of Cagnes stands at the top of the town 
on a wide platform from which can be obtained a view 
of the sea, on the one hand, and of the snow-covered 

99 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

mountains on the other. This is a castle of the great 
Grimaldi family. It dates, Mr. MacGibbon 1 says, from 
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and is claimed to be 
the finest specimen of a mediaeval stronghold in this part 
of France. It is simply a vast, square keep, as solid as a 
cliff and as grim as a prison. It is heavily machicolated 
below the parapet. It is frankly ugly, brutal and 
repellent, an embodiment of f rightfulness, a frown in 
stone. 

It is said that the great hall of the chateau possesses 
a ceiling painted by Carlone in the seventeenth century. 
The fresco represents the Fall of Phseton. The present 
state of this work of art is doubtful, for in 1815 the castle 
was occupied by Piedmontese soldiers who, lolling on sofas 
and divans, amused themselves by firing at the head of 
Phaeton and apparently with some success. 

The castle has, however, been disfigured in such a 
way as to render it pitiable and ridiculous. At some 
period huge modern windows have been cut in its fear- 
some walls. These windows, brazen and aggressive, have 
all the assurance of the windows of a pushing boarding 
house and to sustain that character are furnished with 
sun-shutters and lace curtains. The worst phase of this 
outrage is the cutting away of some of the glorious 
machicolations in order to make room for the blatant 
plate glass. This superb old castle, in its present plight, 
can only be compared to the figure of a sun-tanned and 
scarred veteran with a helmet on his grey head and a 
halberd in his hand and on his breast, in the place of 
the steel cuirass, a parlourmaid's pinafore trimmed with 
lace. 

1 " Architecture of. Provence," 1888. 

ioo 




04 
o 

a 
u 

a. 

W 

E 
H 






ft*J 






'* 



' 



I' 17* 



'>:. 



'€ 






GAGNES : THE CASTLE. 



Cagnes and St. Paul du Var 

St. Paul du Var, on the way between Cagnes and 
Vence, affords a vivid realisation of the fortified town 
of the middle ages. It is but little altered and that only 
on the surface. Its fortifications, laid down in 1547, are 
still quite complete. Its circle of ramparts is unbroken. 
There are still the old gates, the towers, the bastions and 
the barbicans. The path along the parapet that the sentry 
patrolled is undisturbed. One almost expects to hear his 
challenge for the password. The town is as ready to 
withstand the attack of an army of bowmen or of 
halberdiers as it ever was. It might even defy cannon 
if they were as small and as weak as the old piece of 
ordnance that still occupies the battery by the main gate. 

The streets are disposed as they were in the days of 
the leathern jerkin and the farthingale. There are more 
houses of obvious antiquity in the place than will be 
seen in any town of its size in Provence. The hand of 
improvement has of course passed clumsily over them. 
Whitewash can wipe out the past and it has done much 
in this way in St. Paul. If the stone wall of a house 
has become too rugged and worn it can be covered up 
with plaster and paint. If the balcony crumbles away 
its balustrade can be used in the fowl-house and can be 
replaced by something in cheap iron from a shop in Nice. 
When the stone chimney falls down a tin stovepipe, can 
fill the void. If the Gothic window be too small it is 
easy to make a fine square opening that will take lace 
curtains and be worthy of Bermondsey, and when the 
oak door, whose black nails have been fumbled over by 
ten generations of boys and girls, has become shabby a 
door of deal, painted green and varnished and provided 
with a brass knocker will make the whole town envious. 

ioi * 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

Still, in spite of all these sorry evidences of advance 
with the times, the town of St. Paul remains a rare 
relic worthy (if it were possible) to be placed bodily in 
a museum, for it is a museum specimen. 

The visitor enters the town through the vaulted 
passage of the main gate and then makes his way by 
the inner guard and under a tower, with a channel for 
the portcullis, into the town. It is a rather terrifying 
entry that belongs to the old days of romance. A gate- 
way that the reader of heroic tales has passed through, 
in imagination, many a time. It should be held with 
flashing swords by such men as the Three Musketeers, 
by Athos, Porthos and Aramis, but at the moment it 
is obstructed only by an aged woman with a perverse 
and overburdened donkey. 

The town is quiet and clean, full of picturesque lanes, 
of quaint corners and of odd passages. As it was at 
one time a favourite resort of the nobles of the country 
and at all times a place of much dignity it contains still 
many houses with handsome stone staircases and elaborate 
chimney-pieces ; while over door after door will be found 
carved the armorial bearings of old world tenants. The 
dates above many entries go back to the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries. Some of the old wooden doors 
still standing are most beautiful, while examples of ancient 
windows and of ancient archways are very numerous. 

In St. Paul du Var will be seen, in almost every 
street, examples of the little shop of the Middle Ages. 
Under a wide arch or in a square opening will be found 
a door approached by a step and by the door a window. 
The window only reaches to the level of the middle of 
the door. It there ends in a stone counter upon which 

102 




Sf***^8SBfc 







ST. PAUL DU VAR. 




" 





I 




ST. PAUL DU VAR: THE ENTRY. 




ST. PAUL DU VAR: THE MAIN GATE. 



Gagnes and St. Paul du Var 

the goods for sale were displayed. The window (which 
is, of course, not glazed) is closed by a shutter. Both 
shutter and door are usually studded with heavy nails. 
These curious little establishments are no longer used 
as shops, but through them the dwelling is still entered. 

On the summit of the town is the church and, close 
to it, two great, square towers of the thirteenth or four- 
teenth centuries. The taller of these is the belfry of the 
church, while the more sturdy is the tower of the town. 
They are both severely plain and fine specimens of the 
period to which they belong. 

The church dates from the same era as the towers 
and is — as regards its interior — one of the most beautiful 
churches in Provence and certainly one of the most 
interesting. Among its notable features are certain altar 
screens of exquisitely carved wood which date from be- 
tween the fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries. The 
chapel of St. Clement the Martyr, completed in 1680, is 
a magnificent work of art, full of details of great merit. 
It is classed as a national monument. On the north 
side of the church is a bust of Saint Claire, carved in 
wood, a work of the sixteenth century. It represents the 
head of a young woman with a singularly beautiful and 
pathetic face. It is a haunting face, for whenever the 
church of St. Paul is recalled to mind this face at once 
comes back among the shadows of its aisles. 

There is in the sacristy a collection of treasures which 
has made the church famous throughout France. It in- 
cludes marvellous crucifixes in silver, silver statuettes of the 
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, a tabernacle portatif 
and numerous old reliquaries, one of which — very curious 
in shape — contains the shoulder-bone of St. George. * 

103 



XIII 

CAP FERRAT AND ST. HOSPICE 

GAP FERRAT is the name of a narrow tongue 
of land which is suddenly thrust out into the sea 
between Villefranche and Beaulieu. It is one 
of the great landmarks along the coast, is nearly a mile 
in length and rises at one point to the height of 446 feet. 
It is a peninsula of rock covered with trees and forms 
a pleasant strip of green athwart the blue expanse of 
water. At its further end it breaks up into two capes 
which spread apart like the limbs of a Y. One is Cap 
de St. Hospice, the other Cap Ferrat. 

Cap de St. Hospice is a very humble cape, small 
and low. All the present dignity of the peninsula 
belongs to Cap Ferrat, which has a lighthouse on its 
point and a great hotel, as well as a semaphore on a hill 
and a number of villas of high quality. Cap de St. 
Hospice has none of these things ; but it possesses a little 
fishing village, a lonely church, an ancient tower and a 
wealth of glorious memories. Cap Ferrat is modern. 
It has no associations; for until the road-maker and the 
villa builder came it was merely a strip of rough forest. 
The whole interest of this would-be island centres around 
the promontory of St. Hospice. 

In the early days the land, far and wide, that bordered 
on the cape was buried in the gloom of paganism. It 

104 




ST. PAUL DU VAR: A SIDE STREET. 




ST. PAUL DU VAR: A SHOP OF THE MEDIEVAL 
TYPE. 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

was as dark as a moonless night in winter and as chill. 
Then, in a certain year, a spark of light appeared on 
Cap de St. Hospice. It was very small, a mere isolated 
speck in the overwhelming shadow. It glowed from a 
humble monastery of a few stone huts which formed 
the first Christian settlement in this part of the Medi- 
terranean. With the passage of years the spark grew 
until the darkness about the cape changed to day and the 
whole country beyond was flooded with a light that men 
came to know as the Light of the World. 

The missionary who established himself upon this 
remote point of land was St. Hospice or St. Auspicius. 
He, with only a few followers, planted on the cape, in 
the year 560, an outpost of the Christian religion. So 
primitive and crude was the settlement that it was rather 
an entrenchment than a monastery. Of the rough stone 
hovels that composed it no trace, of course, exists. 

St. Hospice is described as a man, eloquent of speech, 
whose presence was commanding but whose heart was 
that of a child. H^ had the gift of prophecy and the 
power of working miracles. He foretold the coming of 
the Lombards and saw, as in a vision, the desolation that 
they would leave in their track. He warned his converts 
to seek safety in strong places and to take their goods 
with them. As for himself, when the news reached Cap 
Ferrat in 572 that the Lombards had crossed the Col 
di Tenda, he shut himself up in an old deserted tower 
on the crest of the cape and — like St. Paul — hoped for 
the day. 

When the barbarians arrived they were convinced that 
the tower, which was so closely shut, must be the hiding 
place of treasure. One of the robbers at once climbed 

105 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

to the top of the stronghold and peeped over. He found 
it roofless and, looking down into the depth, saw not 
coffers filled with silver and gold but a solitary man, 
emaciated and in rags, sitting on the bare stones. They 
assumed him to be a miser who had vast wealth buried 
beneath the flags on which he crouched. With violent 
hammer blows they broke down the door and effected 
an entry. 

The captain of the gang pushed through the opening 
and, confronting the silent figure on the ground, de- 
manded who he was and where his hoard was concealed. 
To this the supposed man of wealth replied, " I am a 
murderer. There is no crime that I am not guilty of, 
and with each misdeed I have crucified anew the Son of 
God." This was a dark saying very hard to understand. 
The Lombard, although himself a practised murderer, 
felt that Ke was in the presence of a criminal of unusual 
virulence, of a malefactor whose wickedness was even 
riper than his own. His moral sense was shocked by 
this revolting creature crouching on the earth, and 
moved by an impulse of justice he proceeded to kill him. 
This was in accord with the routine procedure adopted 
by Lombards in all cases of doubt. " He raised his 
weapon to strike a deadly blow on the criminal's head, 
but, to the horror of all present, his arm remained dry 
and stiff in the air and the weapon fell heavily to the 
ground." 1 

This terrible occurrence filled those who had crowded 
into the tower with shivering dread. They feared that 
they too might be punished in this mysterious and abrupt 
manner. They felt their limbs all over to see if they 

1 " Mentone," by Dr. George Miiller, 1910. 
1 06 



Gap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

were still sound, looked at the placid figure on the floor 
with awe and finally fell down upon their knees and 
implored mercy and forgiveness. St. Hospice now arose, 
touched the withered arm, made over it the sign of the 
cross and uttered some fervent words. At once the limb 
became whole again. 

So vivid was the impression made upon these rude 
men that two officers and many of the company expressed 
a desire to be baptised then and there. They never 
dreamt that the expedition would end in this way. They 
had come to plunder and burn, not to be baptised. Those 
outside the tower who had not seen the demonstration 
accomplished by the supposed criminal promptly re- 
treated. They were unfortunately met on the way by a 
body of Ligurians who fell upon them and killed them. 
The attack on Cap Ferrat thus proved a failure and the 
Lombards viewed the peninsula with such mistrust that 
they left it in peace. 

St. Hospice continued to live in the old tower as a 
hermit, beloved and reverenced by all. In this tower he 
died in the year 580 and under the grass at the foot of 
the tower he was buried. Some vestiges of this Tower 
of the Withered Arm were still to be seen as late as 
1650, but at the present day no trace of it is to be 
discovered. 

A sanctuary, in the form of a little chapel, was erected 
by the side of the tower to keep green the memory of 
the saint. It is mentioned in a Bull issued by Pope 
Innocent II in 1137. It was repaired by Charles 
Emmanuel II, Duke of Savoy, about 1640 and was 
dignified by an inscription in marble. Of this memorial 
chapel also no vestige now exists. 

107 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

In later years, when the Saracens came, they estab- 
lished a fortress — Le petit Fraxinet — on Cap de St. 
Hospice and during the troubled centuries that followed 
the promontory was strongly fortified and was the scene 
of many assaults and numerous bombardments. Of these 
strongholds not a stone is now standing, save alone the 
Emmanuel Philibert Tower, of which an account is given 
on p. 110. Between the years 1526 and 1528 the cape 
was occupied by the Knights of St. John who rendered 
great service during the famine of 1527 and promoted, 
in many ways, the commerce along the coast. 

There is a curious legend of the cape which relates 
to the time of the saint, for it belongs to the year 575 
when St. Hospice was still living in his old roofless tower. 
It is the Legend of Jie Stream of Blood. 

On a certain day a party of honest folk — villagers 
and monks — started from Cap Ferrat to walk up to 
Eze. Their purpose was peaceful and indeed they seem 
to have been merely taking a stroll. When the evening 
came they had not returned. They were never to return ; 
for, as they climbed up the cliff, they were set upon by 
a gang of miscreants and murdered to a man. Plunder 
was not the object of the attack, for the victims were 
poor but they were disciples of St. Hospice and the 
religion taught by that good man was held in abhorrence 
by the profane. As no trace of the murderers was ever 
discovered it is assumed that they were agents of the 
devil and that they had come direct from the bottomless 
pit on this especial mission. 

On the following morning some fishermen were 
starting in their boats from the cove where now stands 
the village of St. Jean. The morning was calm. The 

108 




GAP DE ST. HOSPICE. 




ST. HOSPICE : THE MADONNA AND THE TOWER. 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

sea was smooth as a mirror and as blue as the petals of 
the gentian. The boatmen were amazed to see a crimson 
stream coming towards them on the surface of the deep 
from the direction of Eze. It was a stream, narrow 
and straight, and as clear in outline as a ribbon of 
scarlet satin drawn across a sheet of blue ice. As they 
approached it they were horrified to perceive that it was 
blood, warm blood, thick and gelatinous looking. It 
smelt of fresh blood and from it rose a sickly steam. 

As the men drew nearer the red streak began to 
recede in the direction whence it came. They followed 
it. It led them to the beach at Eze. They landed and 
saw before them the rivulet of blood trickling, in 
slow, glutinous ripples, over the stones. It withdrew 
to the foot of the cliff. They followed and as they 
advanced the stream still retreated. Looking up they 
could see it coming down the path as a thick red band, 
with clots hanging here and there from the steps and 
from low-lying brambles. As they mounted up the cliff 
the stream withdrew before them. 

Finally the fishermen came to a mossy ledge, where 
they found the bodies of the dead villagers lying in a 
tangled heap. Beneath them was a cross which they 
had never seen before. They proceeded at once to bury 
the victims of this wicked outrage. The ground about 
was rocky; but, as they dug, the rock softened and 
became as sand. They left the cross as they had found 
it and, after offering up a prayer for those who had 
passed away, they walked silently down the path to their 
boats. 

St. Jean is a little place that hangs about a tiny 
harbour full of fishing boats. It is quite modern or at 

109 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

least all that part of it that is presented to the eye belongs 
to the period of to-day. It is popular because it is sup- 
posed to be a fisher village away from the world, and 
those who live in towns love fisher villages, since they 
suggest a picturesque quietness, a place of nets and 
lobster pots and of sun-tanned toilers of the deep, a 
primitive spot where people live the simple life in vine- 
covered cottages. 

Now there is little of the fisher village about St. Jean, 
not even the smell. There are certainly nets and boats 
and an appropriate brawniness about the people ; but the 
fisher village element is wanting. St. Jean is, in fact, 
a popular resort for the humbler type of holiday folk, a 
place they can reach in the beloved tram and where they 
can eat and drink and be merry. The whole quay front 
is occupied by bars, cafes and restaurants, where langouste 
can be enjoyed and that rare dish the bouillabaisse which 
is claimed to be a speciality of the place. 

St. Hospice would not approve of St. Jean in its 
present guise and could he find the way back to his tower 
he would be horrified by the placards of " American 
drinks " and " Afternoon teas." There is no missionary 
spirit abroad in St. Jean, nothing of the old monastic 
life. The early morning fishermen would never again 
expect to see a stream of blood creeping over the tide. 
St. Jean, in fact, is no longer adapted for miracles; 
while its romance goes little beyond the romance of a 
lunch in the open air by a harbour side. 

Beyond St. Jean is the point of Cap de St. Hospice, 
a low, rocky promontory covered with firs, olive trees 
and cactus. On the extremity of the cape is the tower 
erected by Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, in 1561. 

no 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

It is a structure in yellowish stone, plain, round and 
squat, with a few emplacements for small guns on its 
summit and a few narrow slits in its uncompromising 
flanks. It is as insolent and as defiant a structure as can 
be imagined. By its side is placed a most astonishing 
object — a newly-made statue of the Virgin, some 28 feet 
in height and nearly as tall as the tower itself. The 
statue stands on the grass facing the east, is of a bilious 
tint but otherwise unpainted. Few more incongruous 
things have ever been brought together in this world. 
The statue is so very modern, so artificial and so frail ; 
while the tower is so old, so primitive and so coarse in 
its braggart strength. The statue, it appears, was pro- 
vided by the subscriptions of the faithful, but want of 
funds or want of purpose has prevented its being placed 
on the top of the tower where it was intended that it 
should ultimately stand. 

The tower has walls of enormous thickness. An 
upper story can be reached by a stair and there the visitor 
will be brought face to face with the most substantial 
apparition that has ever been found in a mediaeval strong- 
hold. He will find himself, when near the roof, con- 
fronted by the ashen face of the Madonna, a face as big 
as a boulder, for the tower is occupied by a model of 
the statue which is of the same proportions as the 
stupendous image itself. To complete the anomalies of 
this remarkable household the ground floor of the tower 
is occupied by a family surrounded by the amenities of 
a cave dwelling. 

Beyond the tower is the chapel of St. Hospice. It 
is a humble, barn-like little church with a roof of red 
tiles and a bell gable. It is comparatively modern, for 

in 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

it has been in existence for just one hundred years. It 
is only opened once annually — viz. on October 16th — 
for the celebration of the Mass. 

The spot on which it may reasonably be assumed that 
the monastery of St. Hospice stood is occupied by a cafe- 
restaurant where dancing is indulged in on Sundays and 
holidays to the music of a pianola. One wonders what 
the saint — who was eloquent and forcible of speech — 
would say if he could visit again the cape that bears his 
name. 

There are some half -buried fragments of old walls on 
the promontory, and these the imaginative man, if free 
from scruples, can assume to belong to whatever build- 
ing and whatever period in the history of the place he 
may particularly affect. 

From the point of the spit is a fascinating view of 
the mainland and especially of Eze which stands exactly 
opposite to St. Hospice. La Turbie also can be seen 
at great advantage. It lies in the col between Mont 
Agel and the Tete de Chien and marks the place of 
crossing of the Roman road. 

On the coast, on either side of Cap Ferrat, are 
respectively Beaulieu and Villefranche. Beaulieu is a 
super-village of sumptuous villas. It lies on an evergreen 
shelf by the sea, pampered by an indulgent climate, made 
gorgeous by an extravagant vegetation and provided by 
all the delights that the most florid house agent could 
invent. It breathes luxury and wealth, languid ease and 
a surfeit of comfort. It can be best viewed from the 
Mid-Corniche road on the way up to Eze. Here the 
envious can lean over a wall and look down upon Naboth's 
vineyard, upon a village which is possibly the richest in 

112 




VILLEFRANGHE : THE MAIN STREET. 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

Europe and upon gardens whose glory is nowhere to 
be surpassed. 

Villefranche, the harbour town, lies across the blue 
lagoon. It is as little like Beaulieu as any place could 
be, for whatever Beaulieu boasts of Villefranche lacks. 
It is a very ancient town ; but it has been so persistently 
modernised that it has an aspect of the present day. It 
is like an old face that has been painted and powdered 
and "made up " to look young. The result as regards 
the town is like the result as regards the face — an im- 
perfect success ; for in the dim lanes of Villefranche are 
still to be traced the wrinkles of old age, while the grey 
of its withered stones is still quite apparent even under 
a toupee of auburn tiles. 

There are boats everywhere, not only in the harbour 
and on the quay but up the streets, where they are being 
patched and hammered at. The quay is carpeted with 
nets and among them old women in straw hats are sitting 
on low chairs repairing broken strands. Ducks are 
wandering about and against any support that is solid 
enough a thoughtful mariner is leaning. 

At the south end of Villefranche is the citadel, a 
lusty, rambling fortress built in 1560 by Emmanuel 
Philibert about the time that he erected the very gallant 
fort which still stands on the summit of Mont Alban, 
high above the town. The citadel is now grey and green 
with age, is much humiliated by certain modern build- 
ings, but still is cut off from the world by a terrifying 
moat spanned by a timid bridge and is still said to retain 
in its depths some dreadful dungeons. 

Villefranche is on a slope and thus it is that all lanes 
leading up from the quay are very steep and, indeed, are 
i 113 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

stairs rather than streets. Some are quite picturesque, 
especially such as pass under archways and through vaulted 
passages. There are a bewildering number of bars, cafes 
and wine-shops along the sea front which bear testimony 
to that thirst which is a feature in the physiology of the 
mariner. A well known author has described an English 
village as made up of "public houses and drawbacks." 
He would probably speak of Villefranche as a compound 
of bars and stairs. 

One of the most exciting days in the history of Ville- 
franche happened in the year 1523 when " The Great 
Ship " was launched and when the people either screamed 
themselves hoarse with elation or were rendered dumb 
by surprise. This Leviathan of the Deep was built by 
the Knights Templars. The dimensions of the fearsome 
vessel have probably grown with the passage of time, but 
quite temperate historians describe her as possessed of 
six decks and as furnished with a powder store, a chapel 
and a bakehouse. She carried a crew of 300 men. 
Writers with a riper imagination assert that she was 
covered with lead and that so terrific was her weight 
that she could sink fifty galleys. Things grow as the 
centuries pass. It would be of interest to learn to what 
proportions the ephemeral image of the Virgin, on the 
opposite cape, will have attained in the next four 
hundred years. 

Villefranche and Cap de St. Hospice are both con- 
cerned in the astounding journey that was made by the 
dead body of Paganini. 

Paganini, the immortal violinist, died at Nice on 
May 27th, 1840, in the Rue de la Prefecture in a house 
which has been already indicated (page 25). He died 

114 




£3 
CO 

D 

< 

Q 

< 
O 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

of tuberculosis at the age of 56. His religious opinions 
appear to have been indistinct and his religious observances 
even less pronounced. In the closing hours of his life 
he was denied or failed to receive the last rites of the 
Church and, after his death, the clergy refused to allow 
his body to be buried in consecrated ground. 

On the day following his decease the coffin was de- 
posited in the cellar of a house near by, a house that 
stands at the junction of the Rue de la Prefecture and 
the Rue Ste. Reparate. 1 The cellar was in the posses- 
sion of a friendly hatter. The body then appears to 
have been removed to an "apartment" in a hospital 
at Nice, but the facts at this point in the narrative are 
confused. 2 

Paganini's son took action against the bishop for re- 
fusing to permit the body to be buried within the pale 
of the Church. In this action young Paganini failed. He 
appealed against the decision of the clergy and the matter 
was finally referred to the Papal Court at Rome. Pend- 
ing judgment the body was taken to Villefranche and 
placed in a lazaretto there. In about a month the smell 
emitted by the corpse was complained of and accordingly 
the coffin was taken out of the building and placed on 
the open beach near the water's edge. 

This gave great distress to the friends of the dead 
artist and so one night a party of five of them took up 
the coffin and carried it by torch-light round the bay to 
the point of Cap de St. Hospice. Here they buried it 
close to the sea and just below the old round tower which 

1 The house is now a tailor's shop. Neither of these houses is indicated 
by any tablet or inscription, as has been sometimes stated. 

2 " The Romance of Nice," by John D. Loveland, London, 1911. 

115 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

still stands on this spit of land. Over the coffin was 
placed a slab of stone. All this happened within a year 
of the maestro's death. 

In 1841 the son decided to take the body from the 
Cap de St. Hospice and convey it to Genoa, because it 
was in Genoa that his father was born. Here it was 
hoped he could be laid at rest. A ship was obtained 
and the coffin was lifted from the grave near the old 
tower and placed on the deck. When Genoa was reached 
the party with the coffin were not allowed to land be- 
cause the vessel had come from Marseilles and at that 
port cholera was raging. 

The ship thereupon turned back and sailing west- 
wards brought the dead man to Cannes. Here also per- 
mission to land a coffin, which was already highly sus- 
pected, was refused. The position seemed desperate but 
near Cannes are the Lerin Islands and among them the 
barren and lonely rock known as Sainte Ferreol. Here 
the body was once more buried and again covered with 
a stone. On this strange little desert island it remained, 
in utter loneliness, for four years, in the company only 
of the seabirds and of some blue iris flowers that made 
the rock less pitiable. 

Now it seemed to Achillino Paganini a heartless thing 
to leave his father's body in this bleak, forsaken spot. 
The great musician had some property at Parma and 
it was considered well that the body should be taken 
there and buried in his own land and in his native Italy. 
So the dead man was carried away from the island and 
was buried in a garden in his own country and amid 
kindly and familiar scenes. This voyage was accom- 
plished without mishap in 1845. 

116 



Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 

For some unknown reason it was determined in 1853 
that the body should be re-embalmed. So the coffin 
was once more dug up and the gruesome ceremony 
carried out. The wanderings of the dead man had, how- 
ever, not yet come to an end for in 1876 permission was 
granted by the Papal Court to lay the body within the 
walls of a Christian church. So once more the corpse 
was exhumed and conveyed, with all solemnity, to the 
church of the Madonna della Staccata in Parma where 
it was placed in a tomb. By this time no less than thirty- 
six years had passed since the poor dead master com- 
menced his strange journey. 

But even now he had not come upon peace ; for in 
1893 a certain Hungarian violinist suggested that the 
body in the church was not that of the adored musician. 
Thus it happened that once again the corpse was exhumed 
and once again the coffin opened. The son, who was 
still alive, permitted an investigation to be made. Those 
who looked into the coffin saw lying there the form of 
the man who had enchanted the world. The black coat 
that he wore was in tatters, but it was his coat. The 
face, too, they recognised, the gaunt, thin face, the side 
whiskers and the long hair that fell over the neck and 
covered the white bones of the shoulder and the gleaming 
ribs. 



117 



XIV 

THE STORY OF EZE 



E^ ZE is a curious name and the name of a still 
\. more curious place. Eze, indeed, by reason of 
its grim history and its astonishing position 
on a lone pinnacle of rock, is one of the most fascinating 
towns in the Riviera. Its past has been more tumultuous 
and more tragic than that probably of any settlement 
of its size in Provence. It has seen much, has done 
much and, above all, has suffered much, for its cup of 
sorrows has been overflowing. 

It is a place of extreme antiquity ; since people lived 
within its rampart of rocks before the dawn of history. 
Some maintain that the Phoenicians, after expelling 
these raw natives, fortified Eze, but then that ubiquitous 
and pushing people seems — at one time or another — to 
have occupied every place on the seaboard of Europe 
that can admit of some obscurity in its history. 

Certain it is that the Romans when they landed 
possessed themselves of this town on the cliff and 
established a harbour in the bay which lies at its foot. 
When they, in their turn, had embarked in their galleys 
and sailed away the Lombards appeared, murdered all 
they could find, burned everything that would burn and 
robbed to the best of their exceptional abilities. This 
episode is ascribed to the year 578. The death-rate at 

118 



The Story of Eze 

Eze must always have been very high, but during the 
time that the Lombards were busy in the district it must 
have risen almost to annihilation. 

The Lombards and their kin held on to Eze, in an 
unsteady fashion, for nearly 200 years and when they 
had finished with it the Saracens entered upon the scene. 
These talented scoundrels crept up the cliff in swarms 
and, with such bloodshedding as the limited material at 
their disposal would allow, settled themselves upon the 
point of rock and proceeded to consolidate its position 
as a den of thieves. This disturbing change of tenancy 
is said to have taken place in 740 and as the Saracens 
were not driven from Provence until 980 they were 
longer in residence than the Lombards. They are 
credited with having built the castle — or rather the first 
castle — of Eze. They made slaves of as many of the 
natives as they could capture, spoke in a strange tongue, 
made themselves a horror in the land and, in general 
terms, did inconceivable things. Eze was one of the 
last strongholds of the Saracens on the Riviera and in 
order to make the evacuation of the place complete the 
town was razed to the ground. 

After the last Saracens had clattered down the little 
zigzag path to their boats Eze fell upon still more evil 
days. It entered upon a period of unease so protracted 
that for centuries it was never certain of its fate from 
one day to another. It was taken and retaken over and 
over again. It was starved into submission at one time 
and burnt to the rock edge at another. It was occupied 
now by the Guelphs and now by the Ghibellines. It 
belonged one year to the House of Anjou and the next 
to the Counts of Provence. It was at one time a 

119 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

dependency of Naples and at another time of Monaco. 
It was bartered about like an old hat and sold or bought 
with a flaunting disregard of the sentiment of the people 
who were sold with it. Finally in the fourteenth century 
it was sold to Amadeus of Savoy in whose family it 
remained — with the exception of twenty-two years during 
the Revolution — down to its cession to France in I860. 1 

It was visited by plague and devastated by fever. It 
had a varied experience of assassination, of poisoning 
and of modes of torture ; while its information on the 
subject of sudden death and its varieties must have been 
very full. In order — it would seem — that its knowledge 
of every form of fulminating violence might be complete 
it was shaken by earthquake and mutilated by lightning. 

The vicissitudes of Eze were indeed many. At one 
period it was the terror of the coast, supreme in villainy 
and unique in f rightfulness ; while, at another time, it 
was a seat of letters frequented by poets. It had its 
moments of exaltation as in 1246 when Rostagno and 
Ferrando, Lords of Eze, had rights over Monaco and 
Turbia and its moments of misery when it was little 
more than a howling ruin too bare to attract even a 
starving robber. 

Eze too has seen unwonted folk. Every type of 
scoundrel that Europe could produce, during the Middle 
Ages, must, at one time or another, have rollicked and 
drank and sworn within its walls. The strange troopers 
who strutted up and down its astonished lanes in the 
spring would often be replaced by still stranger blusterers 
before the winter came. During the time that Eze was 
a favourite resort of pirates it reached its climax in 

1 " The Riviera," Macmillan, 1885. 
120 



The Story of Eze 

picturesqueness ; for then its vaulted passages must have 
been 'right with strange goods, its streets with curiously- 
garbed captives and its inns filled with seamen who 
roared forth villainous songs and then fell to fighting 
with knives over some such trifle as a stolen crucifix or 
a lady's petticoat. 

Southampton is a long way from Eze but, if certain 
records be reliable, the association of the two sea towns 
is very close. During the hostilities between France and 
England, in the time of Edward III, a fleet consisting 
of 50 galleys — French, Spanish and Genoese — arrived at 
Southampton in 1338 and landed a large body of men. 
The fleet was under the general orders of the French 
admiral, but the Genoese division was commanded by 
Carlo Grimaldi of Monaco, the famous seaman. 

The landing party swarmed over the walls of the 
town or burst through the gates; they "killed all that 
opposed them; then entering the houses they instantly 
hanged many of the superior inhabitants, plundered the 
town and reduced great part of it to ashes." 1 Accord- 
ing to Stowe, in his " Annals," this very effective 
assault took place at " nine of the clock " and the towns- 
men ran away for fear. " By the breake of the next 
day," adds Stowe, "they which fled, by help of the 
country thereabout, came against the pyrates and fought 
them; in which skirmish were slain to the number of 
300 pyrates, together with their captain, a young soldier 
the King of Sicilis son." The entry into the town was 
made at the lower end of Bugle Street. 

1 John Ballar, " Historical Particulars relative to Southampton," 1820. 
John Stowe, " Annals," London, 1631. J. S. Davies, " History of South- 
ampton," 1883. 

121 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Now it is stated that the marauding party that 
attacked Southampton was composed, for the most part, 
of men from the Genoese division of the fleet and that 
the assault was led and the looting directed by Carlo 
Grimaldi in person. Grimaldi's share of the plunder 
was so substantial that on his return to Monaco he 
purchased with the money the town of Eze in 1341. 

It thus comes to pass that some of the savings of 
honest Hampshire citizens have been invested at one 
time in this very unattractive property. 



122 



XV 

THE TROUBADOURS OF EZE 

ABOUT the beginning of the thirteenth century 
there lived at Eze two troubadours, Blacas and 
Blacasette by name, father and son. They were 
Catalans by birth ; but the family had settled in Provence 
and the two singers found themselves in the suite of 
Raymond Berenger, the Count of Provence. How it 
was that they came to Eze and how long they resided 
there is not known. Durandy states that the Blacas 
were owners of the manor of Eze and in describing the 
sack of the town in 1543 he speaks of the castle as " the 
castle of the Blacas." 1 

Certain it is that they were both men of position 
and were both much esteemed. Blacas, his biographer 
asserts, was admired more for "the nobleness of his 
manners" than for the merit of his poems. 2 The two 
of them wrote and dreamed of love and of fair women, 
of gardens and green fields. They formed for themselves 
a little literary circle, as if they were living in Old 
Chelsea, held Courts of Love and meetings with their 
poet friends in which they competed with one another. 
Indeed the first known poem of Blacas (written before 

1 Durandy, " Mon Pays, Villages, etc., de la Riviera," 1918. 

2 " Histoire litteraire de la France," t. xix, 1838. Reynouard, " Choix des 
Poesies orig. des Troubadours," 1816-21. 

123 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

1190) was a tanzon with the troubadour Peyrols. A 
tanzon, it may be explained, was a competition in 
verse, the rhymers concerned contributing alternate 
couplets. 

For those who are curious as to the kind of poetry 
that rippled over the walls of Eze I append a verse by 
Blacas translated into the French of a later period from 
the Provencal in which it was written. 

" Le doioo et beau temps me plait, 
Et la gaie saison 
Et le chant des oiseauoc; 
Et si j'etais autant aime 
Que je suis amoureux, 
Me ferait grande courtoisie, 
Ma belle douce amie. 
Mais puisque nul bien ne me fait 
Helas ! eh done que deviendrai-je ? 
Tant j'attendrai en aimant 
Jusqu'a ce que je meure en suppliant, 
Puisqu'elle le veut ainsi." 

The picture of a troubadour writing little love ditties 
in this most woeful place is as anomalous, and indeed 
as incongruous, as the picture of a lady manicuring her 
hands during the crisis of a shipwreck. The sound of 
these songs as they floated — like a scented breeze — down 
the lanes of the putrid town must have been interrupted, 
now and then, by the shriek of a strangled man in a 
cellar or the shout of the trembling watchman on the 
castle roof. 

The two troubadours loved war. Blacasette penned 

124 







EZE : THE MAIN GATE. 

The scene of the treachery of Gaspard de CaYs. 



The Troubadours of Eze 

enthusiastic verses about it. He thought it an excellent 
pursuit, a measure much to be desired, a thing of which 
it was impossible to have too much. Had he lived at the 
present day he would probably have modified his views. 
He was, however, no mere dreamer. He carried his 
theories into practice and took to fighting when he could. 
He was engaged in the war which, in 1228, Raymond 
Berenger waged against the independent towns of 
Avignon, Marseilles, Toulon, Grasse and Nice. He came 
out of the fray alive, for he did not die until some time 
between the years 1265 and 1270. 

Blacas was married. His wife was Ughetta de Baus. 
The marriage came to an abrupt end ; for one day Ughetta 
walked off with her sister Amilheta, entered a convent and 
took the veil. This precipitate step caused Blacas con- 
siderable distress, for he is described as being "plunged 
in profound sorrow." 

Ughetta was probably not to blame ; for Blacas as a 
husband and at the same time a troubadour must have 
been very trying. From a professional point of view he 
loved women as a body. That was a part of his business 
and no doubt Ughetta became tired of his violent and 
continual ravings about women with whom she was but 
slightly acquainted. Moreover her home life in Eze must 
have been very unsettled. Blacas would one day be 
humming songs about a new lady at the dinner table 
and the next day he would be turning the house upside 
down in order to hold a Court of Love ; while, perhaps, 
on the third morning he would be off to a war he had 
just heard of. Ughetta no doubt talked this over with 
her sister — who may possibly have married a troubadour 
herself — and the two came to the conclusion that the 

125 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

quiet of a convent would be a pleasant change after life 
with a crazy poet in Eze. 

Blacasette — who wrote with facile elegance — was more 
fortunate than his father. He fell harmlessly in love with 
a grande dame or imagined that he had and most of the 
poems of his that survive are amatory sonnets devoted to 
his " sweet lady." The position was made awkward by 
the fact that the sweet lady was already married and was, 
moreover, the wife of no less a person than Blacasette's 
master, Raymond Berenger, Nothing, of course, came 
of this. The lady remained unmoved and was probably 
much bored by the receipt of these florid effusions ; while 
the troubadour did not feel called upon to retire to a 
monastery, nor to take any action that was excessive. 
In fact the love-making was purely academic and little 
more than a display in verse making. 

The " sweet lady " was truly a grande dame, for she 
was the famous Beatrix of Savoy. She married in 1219 
and had four remarkable daughters, the most illustrious 
bevy of girls of almost any age. One, Beatrix, succeeded 
her father and became the Countess of Provence ; another, 
Eleanor, married Henry III of England ; a third, with 
the pretty name of Sancia, married King Henry's brother, 
Richard, Duke of Cornwall ; while Marguerite — the fairest 
of them all — became the wife of Louis IX. 



126 



XVI 

HOW EZE WAS BETRAYED 

IN August, 1543, the citadel of Nice was besieged by 
the French army of Francis I aided by the Turkish 
fleet under the command of the corsair Barbarossa. 
The siege failed as has been already recounted (page 29). 
The next obvious step for the French was to attack and 
destroy Eze, which lay behind Nice and was an obstacle 
to any further progress. It is necessary to realise that 
— at this period — both Nice and Eze were beyond the 
frontiers of France, were foreign towns and, at the 
moment, enemy towns. 

The Turkish fleet, supplemented by many French 
galleys, accordingly set sail for the Bay of Eze, carrying 
with it irregular troops, both French and Turkish, to the 
number, it is said, of 2,000. Now Barbarossa, being 
a finished pirate of ripe experience, would be aware that 
the taking of Eze from the sea was — as a military project 
— quite impossible. Eze stood on a cone of rock 1,400 
feet above the level of the Mediterranean and could only 
be reached from the shore by a narrow path which was 
actually precipitous. To bring cannon to bear upon the 
town from any point, high or low, on either side of it, 
was impracticable. It could only be taken by a body of 
infantry and to the attacks of such a force Eze was 
impregnable. 

127 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Still Redbeard the pirate sailed on with complete 
content. He was not only content ; he was happy. He 
had a treasure in his galley, a treasure in the form of a 
man who was probably sitting alone in the pirate's cabin, 
deep in thought. Barbarossa would take a peep at him 
now and then, rub his hands and smile. The name of this 
man was Gaspard de Ca'is and he was one of the most 
poisonous scoundrels that had ever lived. He was a native 
of the country the admiral was proceeding to invade. He 
was a loathsome traitor who had gone over to the French 
and, for a certain sum, had engaged to betray his country 
and the town of Eze together with friends among whom 
he had spent his youth. The bribe might have been large 
but, valued as a really corrupt ruffian, Gaspard was beyond 
price. 

When the Bay of Eze was reached this sneaking hound 
was landed with a few French and Italian soldiers — 
Italian because they spoke a language more akin to the 
speech of Eze. Barbarossa would like to have kicked the 
knave off the boat but he was not a censor of morals 
and he wanted to take the town. 

De Ca'is and his small company proceeded to climb 
up to Eze. It was September and, therefore, one of 
the hottest months of the year. What with the heat and 
the burden of his conscience Gaspard must have found 
the ascent trying ; for even in modern times with a modern 
path the clamber up to the town from the shore is a 
feat of endurance that the hardiest tourist will scarcely 
undertake twice. 

In due course the perspiring traitor reached the gate 
of Eze — the identical gate that stands before the entrance 
of the town to this day. He would be stopped by the 

128 



How Eze was Betrayed 

guard and asked his business. Mopping his face he would 
reply, with a smile, that he wished a word with the 
governor. After some delay the governor, attended by 
an officer or two, appeared and Gaspard, greeting him as 
an old comrade, whispered in his ear that the Turkish 
fleet was in the Bay and would attempt to take the town. 
This was possibly the only time that Gaspard ever spoke 
the truth ; for, in fact, the fleet was below and the admiral 
did undoubtedly desire to capture the town. De Ca'is 
then lapsed into lying which became him better. He 
explained that as a patriot and a lover of Eze he had 
come to warn the governor of the peril ahead and to 
place his poor services and those of his humble followers 
at the disposal of the garrison. " Would he come in? " 
He came in. 

Now it must be explained that Gaspard had as a 
friend and co-partner in crime no less a person than his 
fellow countryman, the Lord of Gorbio. This prince was 
known by the unpleasing name of the Bastard of Gorbio 
for he was a disreputable scion of the noble house of 
Grimaldi. He was, if possible, a more contemptible 
rogue than Gaspard. He had confederates in Eze and 
a number of traitorous men in his pay hidden among the 
rocks about the entrance. 

As soon as Gaspard de Cais and his companions were 
well within the gate they suddenly drew their swords and, 
with a shout, fell like madmen upon the unsuspecting 
guard who were still standing at attention. This was a 
signal to the Bastard and to his friends within and with- 
out the town. These worthies all rushed to the gate and 
in a few moments the governor and the gallant guard of 
Eze were dead or dying. 

J 129 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

All this time the Turks, in single file, were crawling 
up the zigzag path from the boats, like a great brown 
serpent, a mile long, gliding up out of the water. They 
poured in through the gate, panting and yelling, and 
continued to pour in for hours. Barbarossa now could 
laugh aloud and did no doubt guffaw heartily enough for 
Eze the impregnable was taken with scarcely the loss of 
a man. 

What followed is, in the language of novelists, " better 
imagined than described " ; simply because it is easy to 
imagine but difficult to describe. 

Eze the betrayed became the scene of a blurred orgy 
of house burning, murder and pillage. The town with all 
that was in it was to be wiped off the face of the earth. 
The order could not have been carried out more thoroughly 
or more heartily if it had been executed by the Germans 
of the present day. There was no resistance. There was 
to be no quarter and no prisoners. Everything went 
"according to plan." 

The narrowness of the lanes rendered the process of 
hacking a population to death cramped, slow and very 
horrible. Every street and alley was soon blocked with 
the dead and the dying. The first clatter of hurrying feet 
was soon hushed ; for those who pressed on and those who 
fled trod upon yielding bodies. A whole family would 
be lying dead in an entry ; the man at the front, the baby 
and the mother behind. 

Here would be the corpse of a Turk sprawling over 
the bundle of loot he was in the act of carrying away. 
Here would be a woman's dead hand cut off at the 
wrist, but still clinging to the handle of a door. Here 
a disembowelled man, still alive, trying to crawl into 

1.10 



How Eze was Betrayed 

a cellar and there a half-charred body dangling from 
the window of a burning house. 

It is always customary to say, in the account of scenes 
like this, that " the streets ran with blood," but it is not 
so. The state is far more hideous, since blood clots so 
soon that it will not run. 

The noise must have been peculiarly dreadful, an 
awful medley of the shouts of men, the shrieks of the 
butchered, the moans of the dying, mingled with the 
roaring of flames and the fall of blazing timbers. Now 
and then, among the din, would be heard the crash of 
an axe upon a skull, the crack of a sword upon the 
tense bones of a bent back, the muffled thud of a dagger, 
the hammer-blow of a club. 

The sunlight and the blue of heaven were shut off by 
a pall of smoke ; while suffocating clouds filled many a lane 
with the blackness of night. 

Such fortifications as could be destroyed were levelled 
to the ground, and the castle that crowned the hill was 
blown up by its own magazine. The gate — the fatal gate 
— was untouched and stands to this day to testify to the 
supreme villainy of the traitor, Gaspard de Cais. 

The work was well done. Redbeard the pirate may 
have had his faults, but in the business details of town- 
sacking he was thorough and singularly expert. When 
he beached his galleys in the bay, Eze was a prosperous 
and busy town, living at ease and confident in its 
strength. When the pirate left it it was a black, 
smouldering ruin, empty and helpless, stripped of all that 
it possessed and occupied only by the dead, by such 
wounded as survived and by the few who, hidden in 
vaults and secret places, had escaped death from suffoca- 

131 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

tion. There was no need to leave a guard in the town 
for there was nothing to guard. Eze, as a stronghold 
had ceased to exist. 

After all was over the Turks and their ruffianly allies 
rattled down the hill to the boats, tired no doubt, blood- 
bespattered and blackened by smoke, but jubilant and 
disposed to bellow and sing. Every man was laden with 
loot like a pack-horse. Even the wounded would grab 
the shoulder of a friend with one hand and a bundle 
of booty with the other. They chattered as they 
stumbled along, chuckling over the " fun " they had had 
and announcing what they would have done if only they 
had had more time. Others would be appraising the 
value of their respective spoils, would draw strange 
articles half out of their pockets for inspection, or would 
rub a sticky mess of blood and hair from a vase to see 
better the fineness of its moulding. They reached the 
sea without further adventure, boarded their galleys and 
sailed away towards the East, a proud and happy com- 
pany, pleased with their day's work and grateful to Allah 
for his abounding mercies. 

It only remains to tell what happened to Gaspard 
de Cais and his friend from Gorbio with the unpleasant 
title. They were, of course, overjoyed by the result of 
their labours and must have congratulated one another 
fervently with hearty slaps upon the shoulder. They did 
not go down the hill to join the ships. They had either 
been paid in advance for their distinguished service or 
had got enough loot out of Eze to reward them for their 
efforts. They had done with Barbarossa and were dis- 
posed to do a little now on their own account. 

Their action at Eze had been attended with such 

132 



How Eze was Betrayed 

excellent results that they proposed to try the same 
manoeuvre at the gate of La Turbie. So Gaspard and 
the Lord of Gorbio started in high spirits for this well- 
to-do little town. They were to approach it as friends. 
They were to warn the governor that the Turks were 
coming and were to offer their patriotic services as they 
had done at Eze. They had with them a substantial 
body of men — blackguards all of the first water — among 
whom were no doubt some of Barbarossa's crew who had 
reached the hill too late to make a really good bag. 
Indeed La Turbie was to be Eze over again. 

The two gentle traitors, having hidden their men 
near by, advanced to the gate of the town as the night 
was falling. Unhappily for them the governor had been 
secretly warned of their coming and of their methods 
for helping their fellow countrymen. The result was 
that they were received, not with gratitude, but with 
bullets and stones. 

They fled and, as it was dark, made good their escape. 
The Bastard of Gorbio took refuge in a church. There 
he was found and seized by two brave priests, Gianfret 
Mossen of Eze and Marcellino Mossen of Villefranche. 
Gaspard de Cai's hid in a cave. He also was discovered 
and arrested. Very probably his colleague from Gorbio 
revealed his hiding place to those who were in pursuit. 
Anyhow these two snivelling ruffians were both marched 
off to the Castle at Nice where they were tried for high 
treason, convicted and sentenced to dqath. 1 

According to one account Gaspard was drawn and 
quartered and the Bastard of Gorbio was hanged; while 

1 " Mentone," by Dr. George Miiller, London, 1910. Durante's " History 
of Nice," Vol. 2, p. 313. 

133 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

another record states that Do Cats was broken on the 
wheel and that his friend committed suicide in his cell. 
It matters little which account is true. They both came 
to a tit ting end and passed out into the darkness with the 
curses of their countrymen ringing in their ears. 

With the sacking and massacre of 1548 the story of 
Eze comes to an end. It ceased to be a town to reckon 
with, to be cajoled or threatened, to be bought or sold. 
It became a place of no account and has remained humble 
and unhonoured ever since. The walls were not restored, 
the fortifications were not remade and the castle was 
allowed to crumble into dust. Lie who was Lord of Eze 
was lord over a hollow heap oi' tainted ruins and his title 
was as much a shadow as was his town. 

The new Eze, which in course of time came into 
being, had its foundations set upon the ruins of 1548. 
The castle appears to have been more completely dis- 
mantled in 1604, On February 28rd, 1887, the earth- 
quake which destroyed Castillon — a place singularly like 
Eze in its position — did some damage to the hapless town 
and also to its castle. But it would seem as if the forces 
of both heaven and earth were conspiring to rid the world 
of this battered and ill-omened house, for in the territic 
storm of May, 1887, its remaining walls were so split 
by lightning that the arrogant old stronghold was 
reduced to the mean condition in which it is found 
to-dav. 



134 




A STREET IN EZE. 



XVII 

THE TOWN THAT CANNOT FORGET 

AMID the deep valleys and the titanic ridges of bare 
rock which slope down to the sea from the Alps 
stands Eze. It stands alone in a scene of wild 
disorder. From a huge gash in the flank of the earth, 
lined with trees as with grass, rises a pinnacle of rock, 
a solitary isolated bare pinnacle, 980 feet high, with sides 
sheer as a wall. It rises, clear and grey, out of the abyss 
and on its summit is Eze. It seems as if some fearful 
power had lifted the town aloft for safety ; while, to 
compare the stupendous with the trivial, it tops the cone 
like a tee-ed ball. 

The most impressive view of Eze is obtained from 
the road that leads from La Turbie to Cap d'Ail, at about 
the time of the setting of the sun. It is then seen from 
afar as a tiny town on a crag among a tumbled mass 
of mountains which lie deep in shade. It is the only 
sign of human habitation in the waste. The sun shines 
full upon it. 

Against the dark background of pines it appears as 
a brilliant object in silver grey. Its houses, its church 
and its castle are as clean cut as a many-pointed piece 
of plate lying upon folds of dark green velvet. No 
visible road leads to it. It looks unreal, like a town in 
an allegory, such a town as Christian saw in the Pilgrim's 

135 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Progress, such a little city as is graved upon the back- 
ground of an old print by Albert Diirer. 

Eze is approached only from the north, from the side 
towards the Corniche Road. Viewed from this nearer 
point it suggests a small Mont St. Michel rising out of 
the land instead of the sea. The town seems a part of 
the rock. It is not at once apparent where the rock 
ends and the dwellings begin, for they are all of the same 
tint and substance. It is easy, from the highroad, to 
pass the town by without perceiving it, for its " pro- 
tective colouring " is so perfect and its camouflage so 
apt that it may be taken for the notched summit of the 
rock itself. 

A closer inspection shows walls dotted with dark 
apertures. These are windows; but they suggest the 
black nest-holes that sand-martins make on the face of 
a cliff. There are faint touches of colour too, a heap 
of rust-tinted roofs, a grey church tower, a splash of red 
to mark the nave, the brown ruin of a castle like a broken 
and jagged pot, a tiny ledge of green with a line of white 
stones to mark the burying place. 

A zigzag path mounts up to an arched gateway in 
the face of the wall. It is the only entrance into Eze. 
This portal will admit a laden mule or a hand-cart but 
not a carriage ; for no ■ ' vehicle ' ' can find admittance 
into this exclusive town. A curve of smoke alone shows 
that it is inhabited. In the distance is the blue Mediter- 
ranean lying in the sun. 

Before entering Eze it is well to remember that it is 
an ancient place in the last stages of decrepitude and 
decay and that it has had a terrible history and centuries 
of sorrow. It is poor, half empty and partly ruinous. 

136 



The Town that Cannot Forget 

Those who expect to find a mediaeval fortress will be 
disappointed since its houses differ but little from such 
as exist in many an old neighbouring town ; while those 
who are unaware of its past may adopt the expression of 
a tourist I met, leaving the rock, who informed his 
friend — as a piece of considered criticism — that Eze was 
" a rotten hole." Such a man would, no doubt, describe 
Jerusalem also as " a rotten hole." 

The gate of Eze — the Moor's Gate as it is still called 
— is supported by a double tower with evil-looking loop- 
holes. It is very old and very worn. Its machicolations 
are covered with ferns which make its harsh front almost 
tender. Within this entry is another gate and a second 
tower upon which is a commonplace house reached by a 
flight of steps. Here we stand in an ancient feudal 
fortress. Here is the station of the guard and here has 
taken place such hand-to-hand fighting and such slaughter 
of men as should make the walls shudder to all eternity. 
It was here that the stand was made by the faithful 
garrison when the last siege of Eze took place, the siege 
led by Barbarossa in 1543. It was at this very gate that 
the traitor Gaspard de Cais parleyed with the governor. 

Within the second gate is a platform for the inner 
guard, from the ramparts of which one can look down 
into the chasm from which Eze arises and judge of the 
formidable position of the place. 

The streets of Eze are mediaeval in arrangement being 
mere alleys — each as narrow as a trench — between the 
houses. They are paved with cobble stones at the sides 
and with red bricks in the centre and are lit — such is the 
anomaly — by electric light. These lanes wander about 
in an uneasy and disconsolate way. They sometimes 

i37 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

mount upwards ; they sometimes glide down as if un- 
decided. They dip under houses through black, vaulted 
ways : they lead to stone stairs that disappear round a 
corner : they turn warily to the right and then to the 
left, as if someone followed. 

There comes upon the visitor the sense of being lost, 
of wandering in a nightmare town, of being entrapped 
in a maze, of never being able to get out again. They 
are dreadful streets for an ambush and there is many a 
corner where an assassin in a cloak must assuredly have 
waited for the unsuspecting step. They are full of ghosts, 
of reeling, bellowing men rolling down the steep arm in 
arm, of half- awakened soldiers, buckling on their arms 
and hurrying to the clamour at the gate, of clinging, 
terror-stricken women and of the stalwart prince with 
his solemn guard. 

As to the place itself it is a town, tumbled and de- 
ranged, made up of rocks and ruins and of melancholy 
houses of great age. It is a sorrowful town, for Eze 
is oppressed by the burden of a doleful past and bears 
on every side traces of its woes and evidences of its mani- 
fold disasters. It is a town, it would seem, that can 
never forget. It is a silent town and desolate. On the 
occasion of a certain visit the only occupant I came upon 
was a half-demented beggar who gibbered in an unknown 
tongue, while the only sound that fell upon the ear was 
that of a crowing cock. Many of the houses are 
shuttered close, many are roofless and not a few are 
without doors. It recalls at every turn the words of 
Dante of "the steep stairs and the bitter bread." 

It is a colourless town for there is nothing to break 
the ever abiding tint of oyster-shell grey. There are two 

138 



~ % >\.V.Y\ 







«fi*L 




EZE: ON THE WAY TO THE CASTLE. 







EZE: ALL THAT REMAINS OF THE CASTLE 



The Town that Cannot Forget 

trees in Eze and, in a back yard, a vine. With these 
exceptions there is hardly a green leaf within its confines. 
The only thing that grows in Eze is a monstrous and 
deformed cactus, a bloated and horrible thing covered 
with prickles. A botanical ogre rather than a plant it 
seems to be a survival from an extinct age and to belong 
to a world over whose plains saurians and other obscene 
reptiles crawled. This senile and unlovely shrub would 
appear to be appropriate in some way to the poor, sad 
town that cannot forget. 

There is by the way no water in Eze except such 
rain-water as is collected in tanks by the provident. To 
obtain water it is necessary to leave the town and journey 
to the bottom of the path. There, on the road where 
the carriage of the tourist draws up, is the fountain. 

Eze too is a place suggestive of craft and secret 
doings, a town which might have been planned by a 
man with a guilty conscience, for it is a veritable rabbit 
warren in which to burrow or to hide while its shuffling 
lanes, which dodge so cunningly, would seem to have 
been devised to favour the panting culprit with justice 
at his heels. 

Rock crops up everywhere. Certain buildings would 
seem to be compounded of the native rock below and 
of worked stones above. Caverns are cut out of the cliff 
as well as curious paths, although some of these now lead 
nowhere. 

There are no two buildings alike. Many may be only 
a hundred years old, but, in any case, they are incon- 
gruous dwellings with windows at odd levels and with 
doors in unexpected places. There are, on the other 
hand, buildings which show evidence of greater age and 

i39 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

oi' much distinct ion. There arc lowers which have been 
converted into common habitations and relics of mansions 
of HO little pretence. On a few of these the corbels are 
still to be seen which once supported the balconies from 
which fair ladies scattered tlowers upon victorious troops 
tramping up to the castle. There are many tine door- 
ways in stone. Some show traces oi' the Moorish taste. 
Others belong to the thirteenth century, while a few dis- 
play the pointed arch oi' later years. There are some 
beautiful stone windows and many stoutly worked doors 
o( wood and other odd details which recall a less squalid 
past. The lounger in the streets oi' Eze will meet with 
crypt-like and cavernous stables for goats, cellars open to 
the sky owing to collapse oi' the roof, and chilly tunnels 
without apparent purpose. One or two passages are 
wide and vaulted and provided with a long stone bench 
against the wall. Here, in the shadow, soldiers will have 
sat to clean their arms and old men to gossip. 

The public buildings are, oi' course, few. The Maine 
is rather pretentiously humble and is the least authorita- 
tive building I have ever seen. The post office clings 
precariously to the side of a steep lane, the Rue du Krek, 
and looks out upon a wall of rock covered with cactus. 
It seems incongruous that from this half-unconscious 
place it is possible both to telegraph and telephone. 
There is a dejected cafe but it is closed. 

The church is of little interest. It was enlarged and 
restored that is to say spoiled — in 1765, It contains, 
besides a font of the sixteenth century and an old cross, a 
painting ascribed to the seventeenth century in the left 
lower corner of which is a picture of Eze as it was. The 
castle in the picture is intact, is solid, square and arrogant 

140 



The Town that Cannot Forget 

looking. It quite overwhelms the jumbled-up little 
brown-red town at its foot. From the top of the tower 
floats a red flag with a white cross on it. 

The castle is on the highest point of the town and 
is reached by a path fashioned out of the rock. This is 
a path with indeed a story to tell, if only it could utter 
it; if it could but speak of the footsteps it has listened 
to — the halting feet of men led up to be judged, the 
trembling feet of men led down to be hanged, the heavy 
tread of the well-laden robber, the nervous step of the 
spy, the rustle of the foot of the damosel. Of this castle 
of the Lords of Eze nothing remains but a wall and a 
fragment of a vaulted chamber. In the castle yard is a 
wretched, shamefaced hut on which is painted " Bar des 
Touristes." It is happily derelict and a victim to the 
general coma which has spread over Eze, for it is as out 
of place as a roulette table in a nunnery. 

High up on the side of a house on the south of the 
town is a little old window. It has a rounded arch of 
weathered stone and is probably the oldest window in 
Eze, for it follows the mode that we in England call 
" Norman." It looks across the sea while on the sill 
is a bunch of scarlet geranium in a broken jar. I like to 
think that this is the window of Blacas, the troubadour, 
that he lived in this house on the cliff and that from this 
casement he poured forth his songs of love and of gallant 
deeds. 

A love song — as I have said — would seem strange in 
Eze in its old ruffian days. It may seem as strange even 
now. But love is eternal and so long as men and women 
walk the alleys of this ancient town it will linger within 
its walls. All the fiercer passions of Eze have died away 

141 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

— the lust for power, the thirst for revenge, the mad 
fever for the fray — but love, it would seem, still remains 
as, possibly, its only heritage ; for I came upon a docu- 
ment in the Maine that announced the coming marriage 
of two young people in Ezc. It was not a troubadour's 
sonnet, it is true ; but it served to show that the old lanes 
near by may still be paths for lovers, that there are still 
steep places where he may help her down and still a 
parapet where the two may lean, gaze over the sea and 
dream. 

One walks down the path from the town as one would 
leave a chamber of death ; for Eze is slowly dying, dying 
like a doddering old man — once the captain of a host — 
who is breathing his last in a garret, with around him 
pathetic relics of his virile past and piteous evidences of 
his present poverty. 



14^ 



XVIII 

THE HARBOUR OF MONACO 

THE history of Monaco from its early days to the 
time when it came upon peace is a breathless story 
full of incident, clamour and surprise. It may not 
be unfitly compared to an account — from moment to 
moment — of the flights and rebuffs of a football in a long 
contested game. Now and again the bewildered ball is 
lost sight of in a melee of panting men. At another 
moment it rolls quietly into the open to be at once 
pounced upon by two furious packs. At times it is " out 
of bounds " and at peace, only to be thrown again into the 
fight where it is harried and battered and driven now to 
this quarter and now to that. Monaco was the ball in the 
fierce game between the Grimaldi, on the one side, and 
the powers of the Eastern Mediterranean on the other 
and in the end the Grimaldi won. 

Until about the end of the twelfth century Monaco 
was merely a lonely rock, almost inaccessible, uninhabited 
and waterless. Projecting as it does into the sea it 
afforded so good a shelter for ships that the little bay in 
its shadow became famous as a harbour of refuge. Fring- 
ing the bay was a pebble beach where a galley could be 
hauled up or a caravel unloaded. 

Monaco was known as a port in Roman days. Indeed 
it was from this unpretentious haven that Augustus Caesar 

i43 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

embarked for Genoa on his way to Rome when his vic- 
tories in southern Gaul had been aceomplished. The 
departure of the Emperor was, no doubt, a scene of much 
pomp, made brilliant by many-coloured standards and 
flashing spears. As the Emperor stepped on board his 
ship the blare of trumpets and the shout of the troops 
drawn up on the plain must have been heard far beyond 
La Turbie. 

The boats of Greek and Phoenician traders have made 
for this harbour and have deposited their strange cargoes 
here to the amazement of gaping natives. Here in 
Monaco Bay wild Saracens have tumbled ashore with such 
unearthly shouts as to cause the sea birds on the rock to 
rise in one fluttering cloud. The beach too has been lit 
often enough by a camp fire around which a company of 
pirates would be drinking and singing, while they waited 
for the return of the marauding party that had left at 
dawn. 

Although the harbour was often alive with men the 
rock remained untenanted. I should imagine that the 
first adventurer to set foot on Monaco would be a 
Phoenician cabin boy. He would climb the cliff and 
gaining the summit would explore it with all the curiosity 
and alert imagination of a boy landed on a desert 
island. 

It is said that in 1078 two pious men, who lived at 
La Turbie, built on Monaco a tiny chapel to St. Mary. 
They built it with their own hands and employed, in the 
making, stones from the Roman monument in their native 
town. If this be true the only building that for a hun- 
dred years stood upon this barren plateau was the child-like 
chapel, a speck of white on the dark expanse of rock. » 

144 



. . . 




The Harbour of Monaco 

In 1191 the Emperor Henry VI granted Monaco 
to the wealthy and prosperous town of Genoa. The 
Emperor's rights over this fragment of territory might 
be questioned, but there was none to gainsay him. His 
gift was coupled with the requirement that a fortress 
should be built on Monaco which should be ready to serve 
the Emperor in his wars with the pestilential people of 
Marseilles and of other towns in Provence. 

In the same year an official party of noble Genoese 
came to Monaco and formally took possession of the 
place in the name of their city. It was a solemn occasion ; 
for those who represented Genoa made a ceremonial tour 
of the rock, carrying olive boughs in their hands. It was, 
moreover, a trying occasion for the visit was made in the 
stifling month of June. 

Some of the noble commissioners who were stout and 
advanced in years (as commissioners often are) must 
have been hauled, dragged and pushed up the cliff side, 
like so many bulky packages. Burdened as they were 
with official robes and olive branches, which had to 
be carried with decorum, they would have found the 
ceremony very exacting. They did more than merely 
stumble about on the top of the rock, panting and 
perspiring and trying to look official under sweltering con- 
ditions. They laid down the lines of a fort. It was to 
be a square fort and very large, with a tower at each of 
the four angles, and it was to be designed in the Moorish 
style. 

This fort or castle was erected in the year 1215 on the 
site of the present palace and was provided with a garrison 
by the Genoese. Outside the fort the rudiments of a town 
appeared — the first huts and houses of Monaco. That 

K i45 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

town, therefore, has already passed the seven hundredth 
anniversary of its foundation. 

The harbour of Monaco of to-day is a model harbour 
as perfect as the art of the engineer can make it. Two 
stone piers guard the entrance and at the end of each is a 
lighthouse. There are two wide quays where feluccas and 
other rakish-looking ships land barrels of wine ; while the 
basin itself can accommodate a fleet of yachts. 

This haven which has sheltered the very earliest forms 
of sea-going ship now shelters — during the regatta season 
— the latest development of the motor boat and the racing 
launch. History repeats itself. There was amazement 
at Monaco when the first hydroplane dropped on to the 
water by the harbour's mouth : there was amazement also, 
centuries ago, when the loungers about the beach saw 
enter the new ship, the astounding vessel that was 
propelled not by paddles or oars, but by sails. 

Above the pebble beach is a modest promenade and 
a road — the main road to Nice. On the other side of the 
highway are genial hotels where people lunch and dine 
out of doors, amid a profusion of white tablecloths and 
green chairs and where the menu of the day is suspended 
from the railings. 

At the far end of this Boulevard de la Condamine 
are an avenue of trees and the old Etablissement des 
Bains de Mer which, even as late as Hare's time, was 
"much frequented in summer." The Etablissement is 
now little more than a ghost. The sound of its gaiety 
has long since been hushed into silence. There is a 
somewhat frivolous-looking building by the water's edge 
which has a rounded glass front and some suggestion that 
it may once have been a palace of delight. It has now 

146 



The Harbour of Monaco 

fallen into a state of decrepitude and shabbiness and is 
given up to quite commonplace commercial uses. It is 
like a dandy in extreme old age who, dressed in the thread- 
bare clothes which were the fashion a generation ago, still 
sits on a parade which once was rustling with happy people 
and which is now as sombre as a cemetery lane. 

Opening on to the margin of the harbour is a great 
gorge, a sudden breach in the earth which serves to 
separate the sober town of Monaco from the frivolous 
town of Monte Carlo. It is a strange thing — this ravine. 
It is deep and full of shadows. Its walls, lit by the sun, 
are sheer precipices of biscuit-coloured rock, tinted faintly 
with red as with rust. From every crack and cranny on 
its towering sides something green is bursting ; while, here 
and there, a flower, yellow or blue, clings to a ledge like 
a perching bird. 

From the balustrade of a garden on its summit 
there hang festoons of scarlet geraniums and a curtain 
of blue heliotrope. Along the bottom of the chasm 
runs a fussy stream, with a noise like that of many 
flutes and by its side — among a jumble of rocks, bushes 
and brambles — an inconsequent path creeps up, out of 
pure curiosity, since it leads nowhere. 

This ravine, as wild and savage as it was a thousand 
years ago, is a strange thing to find in the middle of a 
town, for houses crowd about it on either side and press 
so far forward on its heights that they appear likely to 
topple into the abyss. A huge railway viaduct crosses 
its entrance, while its floor slopes to a road where motors 
and tramcars rattle along, without heed to this quiet 
nook in the mountain side. It is as incongruous and 
out of place as a green meadow with buttercups and 

147 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

cows spread out by the side of the blatant traffic of 
Fleet Street. 

There are other anomalies about this Ravin des 
Gaumates. It is so reckless-looking and so theatrical a 
chasm that one is convinced that duels have been fought 
here and that here conspirators in cloaks have met, and 
buccaneers have stored their surprising spoils. At the 
present day, however, the sea rover's camp is occupied 
by a laundry shed, where unemotional women, with red 
arms and untidy heads, are busy ; and where, in the place 
of brigands' loot, sheets are spread upon the rocks to dry, 
together with white articles of underclothing. 

At the mouth of the gorge — standing quite alone — is 
the little chapel of St. Devote. It is a humble church, 
modern, plain as a peasant, and of no intrinsic interest. 
It is notable only in its position. The building seems to 
be as surprised at the place in which it finds itself as is the 
visitor who finds it there. Possibly no more strangely 
situated house of prayer exists in Europe. Behind it is a 
wild, disorderly glen ; on each side is a precipice and in 
front is a gigantic railway viaduct of such immoderate 
proportions that it towers above the very steeple of the 
church. 

The building viewed from the road where the tram- 
cars run looks like a small shrinking figure enshrined in 
a niche provided by a vulgar, overbearing and irreverent 
railway arch. 

St. Devote is the patron saint of Monaco. The cele- 
bration held every year in her honour is very picturesque 
and impressive ; for then a long procession winds down 
from Monaco to the little chapel to do homage to her 
memory. The legend of St. Devote takes many forms. 

148 



The Harbour of Monaco 

The version here given is that which appears to be 
generally accepted in Monaco. 1 

In the reign of the Emperor Diocletian there lived in 
Corsica a Christian maiden whose name was Devote. She 
was bitterly persecuted for her religion ; but found a friend 
in Euticius, a senator, who concealed her in his house. 
Her hiding place was discovered by the Roman prefect 
who was engaged in the hunting down of Christians. 
Euticius was killed by poison. Devote was dragged forth 
into the street, was mutilated with the utmost brutality 
and finally expired while undergoing the torture of the 
" chevalet." She died praying for the soul of her friend 
and protector, the noble Euticius. 

During the night the body of the martyr was carried 
down secretly to the seashore by her fellow Christians and 
placed, with solemn reverence, on board a ship. As the 
day dawned the ship set sail for the coast of Africa ; but, 
after a while, a storm burst upon it and drove it, helpless 
and hopeless, before a fierce wind towards the shores of 
Gaul. 

The captain — one Gratien — felt that the ship was lost. 
His strength was spent and he gave way to utter despair. 
As he clung wearily to the helm, dazed and exhausted, 
a vision of the dead maiden appeared before him as a small, 
white figure against a curtain of black cloud. She opened 
her mouth to speak. 

"Up! Gratien," she said, "the tempest is passing 
away ; your ship will sail safely into the blue. Watch 
by me and when you see a dove fly forth from my 
mouth, follow it with a good heart. It will take you 
to a quiet haven, called in the Greek, Monaco, and in 

1 " Monaco et ses Princes," par Henri Metivier, 1862. 
149 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the Latin, Singulare. There you will find peace and 
there, by the beach, bury my body." 

Her words came true. The wind ceased ; the savage 
waves dropped into a rippled calm and under an azure sky, 
made glorious by the sun, the battered boat — bearing the 
wan maiden on its deck — sailed, like a radiant thing, into 
a harbour of enchantment. At the mouth of the glen, 
where the rosemary grew and by the side of the laughing 
stream the body of the little maid was buried. 



150 



XIX 

THE ROCK OF MONACO 

MONACO is a bold, assertive mass of rock — long, 
narrow and blunt — which thrusts itself out into 
the sea, as if to show that it held the ocean 
in contempt and cared nothing for either winds or waves. 
The sea has tried its strength against it since the world 
began, but Monaco has ever remained bland and in- 
different. The rock is cut off from the mainland by a 
gorge through which the road to Nice slinks by as if 
glad to escape. The sides of Monaco are everywhere 
precipitous, except towards the east. It is from this side 
only that it can be approached. Its fortifications are 
very massive and consist of high, unbroken walls which 
cover the cliff from base to rampart like a cloak. The 
palace end of the rock has, indeed, the appearance of 
one gigantic keep. The walls which surround the palace 
gardens date from 1552 to 1560, while the fortifications 
that surmount the Rampe belong to the seventeenth 
and eighteenth centuries. The flanks of Monaco, when 
neither sheer cliff nor iron wall, are covered with lavish 
green, for there is not a ledge nor a slope nor a cranny 
that does not lodge some flower or some shrub. 

Access to the town is gained by the Rampe Major, 
a broad and steep, paved path which has been, in large 
part, hewn out of the side of the rock. Up and down 

151 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

this path there is an endless procession of townfolk and 
harbour folk, soldiers and priests, schoolboys and girls, 
hurried officials and gaping visitors. Below the Rampe 
lies a carriage road up to the town, traversed by a tram 
line. This way, the Avenue de la Porte Neuve was con- 
structed in 1828. Before that date Monaco could only 
be reached on foot or on horseback. 

Three gates are met with in ascending the Rampe. 
The first is a ceremonial gate rather than a defence work. 
It was built in 1714 and affects a faintly classical style, 
being fashioned of narrow bricks and white stone. The 
Rampe beyond bends upon itself and, skirting a platform 
surmounted by a sentry tower as yellow as old parch- 
ment, comes face to face with the great battery (now 
bricked up) which stands at the foot of the palace walls. 
It can be seen how perfectly this gun emplacement com- 
manded not only the Rampe but also the entrance to 
the harbour. On the east side of the battery is an 
immense military work in the form of a rounded buttress, 
very like the fold of a hanging curtain turned to stone. 
This is the oreillon which served to mask the battery 
from the land side. 

Below the battery the Rampe turns again upon itself 
and so reaches the second gate. It is a gate in white 
stone, frail and ghostlike, and inscribed with the date 
1533. Beyond it was the drawbridge. Here the Rampe 
bends sharply in its course for the third time and passes 
through the main gateway by a vaulted passage of great 
solidity. This was the famous Mirador or post of the 
guard. 

The Rampe now ends in a bald square with the 
palace on one side and the town on the other. On the 

152 



The Rock of Monaco 

remaining sides of the square are only a parapet and the 
winds of heaven. 

There are trees and seats in the square, for it is a 
place for idleness where old women knit and young 
women sew, where children play and ancients ruminate. 
There are cannon in the square pointing towards innocent 
Cap d'Ail. They were presented to the reigning prince 
of the time by Louis XIV. They are quite innocuous, 
but serve to remind the careless that the place is a strong- 
hold and to provide a plaything for small boys who — 
with the happy imagination of the young — regard these 
implements of war as horses (or more probably as 
donkeys), sit astride of them, strike them with whips 
and urge them to " get up." 

The palace covers the whole of the northern extremity 
of the rock. It is disappointing in that it fails to realise 
the emotional past of the place, its dramatic and pic- 
turesque history, the dire assaults and bloody frays 
without its gates, the tragedies within its walls. It has 
been so mutilated in the past and so improved and 
modernised in the present that it has become inexpres- 
sive. The strong, rigid lines, the grim wrinkles, the 
determined frown have been so smoothed away that the 
face has become vacuous. The new clock tower and 
the rows of modern windows do not recall the stern 
halberdier who held the place against all odds, nor the 
bull-necked men in armour who yelled damnation to 
the Genoese. 

The battlements are more suited for the display of 
flowers than for a line of determined faces under steel 
caps glaring along the barrels of their muskets. As the 
official residence of a prince it is becoming and appro- 

i53 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

priate, but it is not that palace on a rock that bid defiance 
to the world for flaming centuries. Monaco has a great 
and a glorious history, but it is not written on the walls 
of the palace of to-day. 

By the generosity of the prince the palace is thrown 
open to visitors on certain days but it presents little that 
is of interest. It has been so ruthlessly treated in days 
gone by and subjected to such base uses that there is 
little left to recall the stirring days of the old Grimaldi. 
In, or about, 1842 the palace was completely restored, 
so that it assumes now all the characters of a modern 
structure. It is of little concern to know that the south 
wing was built in this century or the north wing in that, 
since the traces of age have been nearly all removed. 
A full account of the lines of the palace, both old and 
new, is given in M. Urbain Bosio's excellent treatise " Le 
Vieux Monaco." 1 Between the gate that leads from the 
Rampe and the gate of the palace itself is a curved wall, 
with machicolations of an unusual type. This wall (now 
much restored) is said to date from the fourteenth century 
and behind it was the hall for the main guard. 

The palace is entered by a fine gateway bearing the 
Grimaldi arms and erected in 1672. It leads into a court 
which is rather bare and cold. Here is to be found a 
double staircase of marble which is a little out of keep- 
ing with its surroundings. There are frescoes in the 
arcades which line the court, but they have been recently 
and rather crudely restored. The little chapel at the 
north end of this Cour d'Honneur is simple and dignified 
and in a modest way beautiful. It was built in 1656 and 
restored in 1884. The long range of reception rooms, 

1 Published in Nice, 1907. 
154 



The Rock of Monaco 

with their lavish gilt decorations and their florid frescoes, 
fulfil the average conception of "royal apartments." 
There are a few pictures of interest but none of especial 
worth. There is an old renaissance chimney-piece of 
carved stone which is, however, memorable. 

The garden is very fascinating with its deep shade, 
its solemn paths, its palm trees and its little orange grove. 
In one corner of the garden are the ruins of an old 
defence work which surmounts the northern wall and 
which may claim to be part of the palace in its fighting 
days. 

Behind the chapel is an ancient tower with battle- 
ments of a forgotten type upon its summit. It is square 
and plain and covered with ivy upon one side. It has 
no windows, but presents a few square openings, about 
18 inches in width, which are the soupiraux which alone 
admitted light and air into the interior. This tower is 
the only substantial part of the original palace that is 
left and is said to date from 1215. According to M. 
Bosio 1 it has two stories above the ground floor. On 
each story is a single room lit and ventilated solely by 
means of the small, square vents (soupiraux) already 
mentioned. He states that these two rooms were used 
as prisons and that on the walls are to be seen names 
cut in both Italian and in Spanish. The Italian would 
pertain to the time of the wars of the Guelphs and 
Ghibellines and the Spanish to the period of the Spanish 
occupation (1549-1641). 

On the other side of the square and directly facing 
the palace is a large official building known, at one time, 
as the House of the Governor. It has seen many changes. 

1 " Le Vieux Monaco." 

155 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

It was the headquarters of the Revolutionists during the 
Terror. On the restoration of the Grimaldi it became 
the seat of the Civil Tribunal and of the schools. It 
later was occupied as a large hotel and cafe and finally by 
the Gambling Rooms pending the completion of a casino 
at Monte Carlo in I860. 1 On the west side of the square 
is the Promenade Ste. Barbe, so called after the chapel 
of Sainte Barbe which stood here. The chapel has been 
converted into a dwelling house, but its door still stands 
and over the portal are still the initials S.B. By no little 
ingenuity this entry has been converted into a shop for 
the sale of picture postcards. 

The town is pleasant, clean and orderly. It has the 
aspect of a place of much content. Its few streets are 
parallel and follow the line of the rock. They are narrow, 
so narrow, indeed, that the notice at the entrance of the 
Rue des Briques to the effect that no motors are admitted 
would seem to be an official jest based upon the more 
ancient estimate of the camel and the eye of the needle. 
There are some picturesque houses and fragments of old 
buildings in the town. In the Rue du Milieu are certain 
beautifully carved doorways in stone of the seventeenth 
century or earlier. 

The winter visitor is apt to pity the Monegasques for 
their narrow streets which keep out the life-giving sun. 
When the mistral blows he has less contempt for the 
sheltering lane and as the end of May is reached — when 
the sun is shunned as if it were mustard gas — he bolts 
across the square, like a man under fire, and diving into 
the cool, dim ways of Monaco thanks his creator for the 
blessing of shade. 

1 The present Casino at Monte Carlo was built in 1878. 
156 






wf 




MONACO: THE SENTRY TOWER ON THE RAMPE. 




MONACO : THE DRAWBRIDGE GATE, 1533. 



The Rock of Monaco 

The old church of St. Nicolas has been replaced by 
a new cathedral which was completed in 1897 and professes 
to be in the Romanesque-Byzantine style. This cathedral 
is, no doubt, a worthy example of modern art, but the 
building is so immense, so glaring and so ornate that it is 
quite out of touch with the humble little dun-coloured 
town. It is as inappropriate as would be the Albert 
Memorial if found by the duck-pond of a village 
green. 

The old church was a loss to Monaco much to be 
deplored. It dated from the twelfth century, was in the 
form of a Latin cross and contained a number of curious 
chapels. It was composed largely of stone from the 
monument at La Turbie. M. Bosio describes it fully in 
his work and adds that its disappearance is very 
regrettable from the point of view of art. 

Near the cathedral are two admirable museums, little 
as they may be expected on this war-battered rock. One 
is devoted to anthropology and the other to oceanography. 
They were instituted by the present prince whose 
attainments as a man of science are known the world 
over. 

Immediately opposite to the cathedral is the old Hotel 
de Ville or Maison Commune. It is a simple building 
of two stories, the door of which on the upper floor is 
approached by a double staircase ending in a modest 
balcony. It was constructed in 1660 and is, in spite of 
its simplicity, the most charming house in Monaco. The 
lower floor — M. Bosio states — was used for the storing of 
corn and meal for the people in times of siege, while the 
upper and more dignified rooms were the offices of the 
mayors, echevins or consuls. 

157 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Opposite the side door of the cathedral is the Rue des 
Carmes. It was so called because it contained a figure of 
the Madonna of Mount Carmel. " On the eve of the fete 
of Notre Dame du Mont-Carmel the old Monegasques 
surrounded this hallowed figure with flowers and lighted 
candles and sang hymns before it." 1 The place of this 
figure is indicated by a painting of the Madonna of Mount 
Carmel on a wall of one of the houses. 

The Rue des Briques is worth following to the end. 
It leads to the Mairie — a modern building of no interest — 
but just beyond the Mairie, on the right side of the road, 
is a humble-looking old house with a wide, round-arched 
doorway and square windows fitted with grilles. This 
was the Mint where money was struck when the Princi- 
pality of Monaco had its own coinage. The use of the 
Mint appears to have been abandoned about 1840, 
although the currency of Monaco was not abolished 
until some years after. 

A little farther down the street, and still on the right 
hand side of the way, is a long wall. This shuts in the 
famous Giardinetto or Little Garden. It belonged to a 
house built by Charlotte de Grammont, wife of Prince 
Louis I, who left the Court of France and retired to 
Monaco in order to be near her daughter, who had taken 
the veil in the convent adjoining. This convent — the 
Convent of the Visitation — is a large, yellow, barrack-like 
building which occupies one side of the Place de la Visita- 
tion, having on the other side the Hotel du Gouvernment. 
The convent was founded by Charlotte de Grammont in 
the middle of the seventeenth century and here her heart 
is buried. On the chapel — which is singularly plain — 

1 Bosio. " Le Vieux Monaco." 
158 



The Rock of Monaco 

is an inscription to note that it was built in 1663 and 
restored in 1870. 

The south-eastern extremity of the rock is occupied 
by the gardens of St. Martin, which were designed by 
Prince Honore V in 1816 to give employment to the 
people during a year of dearth. These gardens are most 
enchanting. They occupy the edge of the cliff and even 
climb some little way down the side of the cliff by hesi- 
tating paths. They are represented by a maze of shady 
walks with, here and there, a terrace overhanging the sea 
or a sheltered look-out on a point of rock. It is a wild 
garden partly tamed, a wilderness where every path is 
made smooth. Its vegetation is partly Italian, partly 
African. Here are pine trees, olives and palms, with 
prickly pear, aloes and agave, pepper trees and mimosa, 
eucalyptus and the mastic bush, jasmine and myrtle, 
hedges of choisya, banks of rosemary, beds of violets and 
cascades of scarlet geranium. Below at the foot of the 
glowing cliff is the cool purple of the sea with a fringe 
of white foam to show where the rock and the waters 
meet. 

Just beyond the Oceanographic Museum is a wide, 
paved platform on the brink of the cliff with parapet and 
sentry house. Beneath it is the Great Casemate built 
about 1709 to provide shelter for the people during bom- 
bardment and to accommodate a cistern for the storing of 
water when the outer world was cut off. This great 
underground " dug-out " is now used as a prison. 

At the end of the garden is the rugged old fort built 
by Prince Antoine over 200 years ago. It is looking 
towards the casino of Monte Carlo, just as a toothless, old 
brigand might look at a dancing girl. It is a romantic 

i59 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

spot with its winding stairs, its great gun embrasures, its 
mysterious doorways and its deserted sentry walk. It no 
longer bristles with armed men; it no longer thunders, 
with flashes of flame, across the sea ; it no longer awakens 
an echo that shakes the astonished hills ; for it is now a 
kind of " Celia's Arbour," a place of whispers where 
lovers meet and ruffle the silence with nothing more 
unquiet than a sigh. 



1 60 



XX 

A FATEFUL CHRISTMAS EVE 

NOT many years after the building of the citadel or 
fort in 1215 (page 145) Monaco became involved 
in the war between the Guelphs and the Ghibel- 
lines. The Guelphs were represented by the Grimaldi, 
the Ghibellines by the Spinola. Each party twice be- 
sieged the other, when entrenched within the citadel, and 
each was twice supplanted by its opponents. Indeed such 
were the changes that a ship returning to Monaco after a 
voyage of no more than a month or so did well to inquire, 
before entering the harbour, whether the rock was in the 
hands of the Grimaldi or the Spinola. 

In 1306 the Ghibellines, or Genoese, held Monaco and 
felt sure of their holding, for they had long remained 
undisturbed. They were represented by the head of the 
Spinola family who had taken up his residence in the 
citadel or, as it would by this time be termed, the palace. 

On Christmas Eve 1306 a small party of men left Nice 
after sundown and made their way to Monaco by way of 
certain paths across the hills. It was not a conspicuous 
party, being formed only of a few armed men and a 
monk. They would be taken for a body of retainers 
moving from one castle to another. It might have been 
observed that they treated the monk with great respect 
and deference. He himself was not notable, except that 

l 161 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

he was an agile and powerful man and that he seemed 
rather more hilarious than is becoming to a priest. 

When they reached Monaco the night was at its 
darkest, the harbour deserted and the rock merely a tower- 
ing black mass. They then did a curious thing. Without 
a word they parted. The armed men crept along the foot 
of the cliff and were at once lost to sight. The monk, left 
alone, sat down by the water's edge and listened. He 
was listening for the sound of a church bell. It would 
be the bell of St. Nicolas in Monaco rung to announce 
the midnight Mass. As he waited he drew something 
from the folds of his gown. It was not a rosary nor a 
crucifix. It was a dagger with a long blade which he 
fingered affectionately. 

When the first sound of the bell rang over the sea he 
rose and commenced to ascend the steep path which led 
to the gate of the town. He walked with his head bowed 
and with leisurely steps. His habit was that of the Priory 
of St. Devote, the little church which looked across the 
harbour. Any who went by passed him unnoticed. If 
he stumbled on the path in the dark he swore which is 
unusual among men of his cloth. Before the gate was 
the sentinel, who recognising the garb of the priest, merely 
inclined his head with a gesture of respect. The monk 
responded by commending him to God. Before long this 
guardian of the gate had need of that commendation. 
The monk, apparently deep in thought, passed through 
the courtyard occupied by the guard. They were sitting 
around a small fire on the ground and were playing at 
minchiate or tresetti or some such game of cards. 

He walked on unchallenged and entered the great 
square before the palace. He drew a sigh of relief. It 

162 



\\m pi 




■ 




u 

< 

< 
=- 

X 
H 

O 

u 

o 
S 



A Fateful Christmas Eve 

might have implied relief at having reached the top of a 
steep hill. It might have implied more. He turned to 
the left and, walking with the solemn step, appropriate to 
a priest going to Mass, entered one of the narrow streets 
of the town that led to the church. There were lights in 
some upper windows and people were leaving their houses 
to attend the evening service. When he came upon the 
last cross street he turned down it. It led not to the 
church but to the ramparts. 

On reaching the ramparts his manner suddenly 
changed; he became intensely alert. He leaned eagerly 
over the wall and whistled. A response came out of the 
black shadows into which he gazed. His friends from 
Nice had kept their tryst. How these armed men got 
over the wall into the town is not known. Very possibly 
the monk had a rope concealed under his habit. 

In a few moments all his followers were around him. 
The bell of the church had ceased to toll and the celebra- 
tion of the Mass had begun. There was now no need for 
further disguise. The party rushed back through the very 
street that the monk had traversed. They may have 
passed a belated worshipper on his way to St. Nicolas 
who, as they tore by, would fall back against the wall. 
They pressed on, headed by the monk, who had now a 
sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. 

On gaining the square a few of the party turned to 
the main gate. The soldiers of the guard were still busy 
at their game of cards and were butchered as they sat. 
The assault was so sudden that the man with the winning 
"hand" fell back dead, with the cards still in his grip, 
spread out from his thumb fan-like, but so spattered with 
blood that they looked all red. The sentinel, who had 

163 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

been commended to God, was stabbed in the back as he 
stood and so passed out of the world without knowing how 
he had come to leave it. 

The monk and the rest of the company made for the 
palace. The men at the open door, who were drowsily 
awaiting the return of the Spinola from St. Nicolas, were 
cut down as if by a blast of deadly wind and so the citadel 
was won. Those within had no time to arm. They were 
killed or made prisoners according to the attitude they 
assumed. 

In the great hall lolled the Master of the House who, 
dozing in a chair, was thunderstruck to see a body of 
violent men, headed by a monk, dash in through the 
door. Jumping up he could only call out to the advancing 
priest, "In the name of Heaven who are you?" and 
tremble as the answer came, "I am Francis Grimaldi." 

The Spinola who were in the church at the time of the 
attack managed to reach the harbour and escaped in their 
galleys to Genoa. 1 It was thus that the great family of 
Grimaldi obtained a final hold upon Monaco and it was 
by reason of what happened on this Christmas Eve that 
the figure of a monk with a sword appears upon their 
coat of arms. 

From this period, with the exception of an interval 
of eleven years, 1327-1 338, 2 Monaco has remained in the 
hands of the Grimaldi who can thus claim to have been 
masters of the stout little territory for no less than six 
hundred years. 

Francis Grimaldi — often spoken of as Francis the 
Crafty — was killed in a fight in 1309. 

1 " Monaco et ses Princes," by H. M6tivier, 1862, Vol. 1. 
8 Between these dates the Spinola were again in possession of the rock. 

164 



XXI 

CHARLES THE SEAMAN 

IT is needless, and indeed impossible within the limits 
of this book, to follow the history of the long line 
of adventurous men who were in turn Lords of 
Monaco. They lived through years of trouble and un- 
rest with varying fortune. They fought and schemed 
with varying success. They mounted high and circled 
far. They came near to be draggled in the dust and 
yet through all vicissitudes, through storm and calm, they 
kept the red and white flag of the Grimaldi afloat over 
the tower of Monaco. 

One of the most brilliant holders of the seigneurie 
of Monaco was Carlo I, otherwise known as Charles the 
Seaman. He was a restless and violent man, as wild as 
a hawk, with an ambition as boundless as his daring and 
with an ability of mind which raised him to the position 
of a great power on the seas. 

He began by choosing a wife from the family of his 
direst enemy; for he married Lucinetta Spinola. The 
marriage, so far as the records tell, was fortunate and 
Lucinetta bore him six children. 

The great purpose of his life was to make Monaco a 
naval power and in this aim he succeeded, for by his 
indomitable energy he raised the Monegasque fleet to a 
position of high rank not only in the Mediterranean but 

165 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

in the remoter waters of Europe. Although the harbour 
at his command was small he was able, on one occasion, 
to collect a fleet of no fewer than thirty galleys and a 
force ol r ten thousand men-at-arms. 

lie devoted his fleet, in the first instance, to advance 
the prestige of Monaco, to consolidate his territory and 
to expand his commerce. When these needs were satis- 
fied he went further afield. He was a free lance and was 
prepared to offer his services to any prince who was in 
need of help and was prepared to pay liberally for his 
assistance. Indeed when any war, large or small, was 
impending it was desirable, as a preliminary, to secure 
the strong arm of Charles the Seaman. He was in- 
different as to the merits of the quarrel or as to the side 
on which he served so long as he saw his way to make 
a good tiling out of it. 

He began his fighting career in a quite modest 
fashion in the year 1881. The Catalans, being unfortun- 
ately not aware of the character of the Lord of Monaco, 
had the audacity to make a blundering attack upon that 
citadel. Carlo fell upon them, scattered them, drove 
them back panic-stricken and, dashing after them, sacked 
their town of Barcelona as a warning not to meddle with 
the Grimaldi again. 

Having a fine fleet and a period of leisure he now 
turned his forces against his old enemies, the Genoese, 
harried them without mercy and blockaded their city. 
He was doing well and likely to do better when war broke 
out between France and England, between Philip of 
Valois on one side and Edward III on the other. Philip 
at once sent to Monaco to beg the help — on terms — of 
Carlo against the English. The invitation was too attrac- 

166 



Charles the Seaman 

tivc to be ignored ; so the fleet of Monaco turned west- 
ward and set sail for the remote and almost unknown 
island of England. It was a venture of no little peril. 
The Gulf of Lyons and the Bay of Biscay arc not to the 
liking of seamen even at the present day, and to cross 
these wastes of water in mere galleys was a venture that 
needed a stout heart — such a heart as that of Carlo 
Grimaldi. 

The Moncgasque fleet, having joined with that of 
France, came up with the English off the Channel 
Islands. A sea battle followed in which Carlo and the 
French, aided very opportunely by a storm, defeated the 
naval forces of England. This was in the year 1343. 
Charles the Seaman gained from this expedition not only 
glory but profit ; for he received from Philip a very sub- 
stantial recompense in money as well as certain rights 
to trade in the Mediterranean which brought consider- 
able additions to his treasury. 

Having disposed of the English navy Grimaldi 's 
services were no longer needed by the French ; so he 
returned to Monaco to resume his interrupted fight with 
the Genoese. Fighting with the Genoese had become 
a habit with the Lords of Monaco, an abiding passion, 
a kind of disorder which would be described as chronic. 
Carlo was getting on extremely well, was doing great 
damage to Genoa and inflicting still more gratifying 
injury upon her fleet, when once more the King of 
France called for his aid and this time gave the order — 
as a contractor would express it — for an expeditionary 
force. 

This force was to be employed in France in fighting 
the English. It appears to have been a joint force of 

167 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

Genoese and Monegasque under the combined command 
of Carlo Grimaldi and a Doria of Genoa. 

The force arrived on the scene of action too late. 
Edward III of England had already ravaged the coast 
of France and had advanced to within a few miles of 
Paris. The battle of Crecy followed. The Genoese — 
as every schoolboy will remember — wearied by forced 
marches, were sent to the front by the French king. 
There had been a storm of rain and, having no cases for 
their bows, the catgut that strung them was rendered 
soft and useless. The men — thus hampered — were un- 
able to withstand the English archers and began to re- 
treat. The king, seeing them waver, ordered his own 
troops to set upon them. " Or tot," cried he, " tuez toute 
cette ribandaille, car ils nous empechant la voie sans 
raison. ,, A general rout followed and the victory of the 
English was complete. The battle was fought on August 
26th, 1346. Both Doria and Grimaldi were wounded, 
but whether by the English archers or the French pike- 
men, is unknown. In spite of his wounds Carlo hastened 
to Calais which was hard pressed by the English. His 
efforts, however, availed nothing and Calais fell. Carlo 
Grimaldi, having completed his engagement, returned to 
Monaco. 

Neither he nor his navy could be long idle. There 
was always lucrative work for them somewhere, together 
with substantial pay and good prospects of loot. Thus 
we find him fighting Greeks and Venetians, going to the 
assistance of Don Jayme II of Majorca in his war with 
Pierre IV of Aragon, and, later on, fighting on the side 
of this same Pierre of Aragon against the Moors of 
Gibraltar. This last-named expedition was in 1349. 

i6S 



#s*^^P^rm\ 




Charles the Seaman 

Before that date, viz. in 1346, he had made peace with 
Genoa and, as a compliment, the command of the Genoese 
fleet was given to his brother. 

Wars were very profitable and Carlo was becoming a 
rich man. He had extended the frontiers of Monaco; 
for he had acquired by purchase the seigneuries of Men- 
tone, Roquebrune, Castillon and Eze. He had rich fiefs 
in France as well as the towns of Cagnes and Villeneuve 
in the vicinity of Nice and was, moreover, engaged in a 
lucrative commerce along the coast. 

All was well, but unfortunately the old chronic malady 
— the passion to fight Genoa — broke out again as chronic 
maladies are apt to do. This time the veteran seaman 
was not so fortunate and indeed fortune would seem to 
have deserted him. The Duke of Genoa fell upon 
Monaco ; surrounded it ; blockaded it and compelled the 
tough old fighter, who had never owned defeat, to haul 
down his flag and surrender. There was never a more 
pathetic moment in the history of Monaco than when the 
gallant seaman walked down the path from his palace to 
the sea a beaten man and, most bitter of all, beaten by 
Genoa. This was in 1356. 

Carlo Grimaldi retired upon Mentone to collect forces 
with which to fight the Genoese once more and so gain 
possession of his beloved rock. For him the time never 
came. The ranks of armed men that he dreamed about 
night and day were never mustered and in 1363 the great 
and heroic seaman died. 



169 



XXII 

THE LHC1KN MURDER 

IN 1457 a little girj, aged twelve, became, on the death 
of her father, the ruling princess of Monaco. Her 
name was Claudine. The position of this little maid 
was embarrassing and indeed pitiable. She would like to 
have romped in the playroom or have spent the days in 
the garden with her pets and her girl friends. Instead 
of that she had to sit for hours on a throne with her hair 
done up in an unwonted and uncomfortable manner, with 
robes about her which were much too large and with her 
feet dangling a long way off the floor. Here she had to 
receive the obeisance of venerable court officials and of 
burly lighting men who bowed gravely as they approached 
and then knelt before those ridiculous small feet of hers 
of which she was so conscious. 

It was very amusing to play the queen in the garden 
with her friends and with a tree trunk for a throne and a 
wisp of paper for a crown; but this solemn ceremony, 
carried on without a smile, was merely a thing of dread. 
She had always been k * Claudine " or " Claudinetta " to 
her companions when they played with her, chased her 
about and pinched her; but now they bent their heads 
when she stepped on the lawn and called her " Madam " 
and " Your Highness." She had to learn that her youth 
had vanished at the age of twelve and one can imagine 

170 



The Lucien Murder 

her, when a function was over, throwing off her robes 
and rushing to the arms of her old nurse to cry until her 
tears were spent. 

She had a worse trouble to face than to be dressed up 
like a puppet and stared at. She was rich. She had 
what she was told were " prospects," with the result 
that she became infested by a crowd of people of whom 
she had never dreamed — a crowd of would-be lovers and 
suitors for her hand. They pestered her with languish- 
ing letters and with sickly sonnets. They were all 
anxious to die for her. They sent her presents. They 
remembered her birthday. They followed her to Mass. 
They played lutes under her window and awoke her in 
the morning by singing unseasonable ballads. She had 
to listen to insidious lords and ladies who gurgled in 
her ear the praises of their sons, their grandsons and 
their nephews. Before she was fourteen she must have 
been as sick of the name " husband " as a tired man 
would be of the yelping of a locked-out dog or the whine 
of a persistent hawker. 

The more impetuous of her suitors seem to have 
proceeded to actual excess in their efforts ; for the 
faithful historian states that " they endeavoured to 
secure her person by ruse or force." 1 It may be trying 
to be adored by one irrepressible young man, but to 
receive declarations of love and offers of marriage from 
a hustling mob must have been alarming. A love-sick 
man, as an individual, may be simply depressing, but a 
crowd of love-sick men reproduces the nauseous features 
of an out-patient room at a hospital. 

In the end Claudine married her cousin, Lambert 

1 " Monaco et ses Princes," by H. Metivler, 18G2. 
171 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

Grimaldi the son of Nicolas, the Lord of Antibes, on 
the excellent grounds that both her father and her grand- 
father had named this gentleman as a suitable husband 
in their last wills and testaments. 

Claudine and Lambert had children and among them 
two sons, Jean and Lucien. Jean succeeded his mother 
as the ruling prince, but was unfortunately murdered 
by his younger brother Lucien. This was a regrettable 
episode in Lucien's life ; but he did something to repair 
it. In 1506 Monaco was once more besieged by the 
Genoese. It was a great and desperate assault, but 
Lucien defended the rock with such consummate skill 
that the attack failed. The siege was memorable since 
it represented the last occasion on which this much tried 
citadel was beleaguered and it exalted Lucien to the 
position of a great military leader. 

Now Lucien had a nephew, Bartolomeo Doria by 
name, to whom he was much attached and to whom he 
had shown great kindness. On a certain day in August 
1524 Bartolomeo was about to proceed from Ventimiglia 
to Lyons. Lucien, wishing to do his nephew honour, 
placed a fine ship at his disposal and begged him to stay 
at Monaco on his way westwards. Doria accepted both 
the ship and the invitation with effusion for it occurred 
to him that it afforded an excellent opportunity to 
murder his genial old uncle. 

In due course Bartolomeo landed at Monaco where 
he was given a hearty welcome and was received by the 
prince with demonstrations of affection. He was attended 
by an exceptionally large suite and this the indulgent 
uncle ascribed to the natural swagger of youth. On 
reaching the palace Lucien begged young Doria to 

172 




z 

to 

a 
pi 
< 

o 

to 
■— 

— 
U 

to 
H 



O 

u 
< 

o 



The Lucien Murder 

accompany him to Mass. He declined; so the prince 
went alone. During Lucien's absence at the church it 
was noticed that Bartolomeo was engaged for long in a 
whispered conference with those who had accompanied 
him. 

As soon as the heat of the day was over (it may be 
about six o'clock) the party met at supper. Bartolomeo, 
who sat next to his uncle, was very silent during the 
meal and — as it was remembered afterwards — was much 
preoccupied and unnaturally pale. Lucien tried to 
rally him ; made jokes ; dug him in the ribs ; chaffed 
him and suggested that he was in love or had lost 
heavily at cards. Bartolomeo could only reply 
with a faint mechanical smile and a hollow effort to 
be jovial. 

A moment came when a dignified chamberlain stood 
up and, with his goblet raised, proposed " Health and 
long life to the Prince." As Bartolomeo responded to 
this toast it was observed that he became as livid as a 
dead man and that the cup chattered against his teeth. 
It was with a throttled gasp that he muttered the words 
: ' Long life to the Prince." Lucien acknowledged this 
kindly expression with a grateful smile and pressed his 
own warm hand on that of his nephew. 

Now hanging about his father's chair was Lucien's 
little boy. Bartolomeo had often played with the child 
and was curiously attached to him. Lucien, knowing 
the affection with which he regarded the lad, took him 
up and placed him in Doria's arms. The boy was 
delighted and began to prattle of the doings of his little 
world and spoke, with breathless rapture, of to-morrow 
when his father was going to take him, as a great treat, 

173 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

to the shady beach at Cap d'Ail where they would build 
a hut, light a fire and cook their own meal. 

This talk was more than Bartolomeo could endure ; 
for he knew that to-morrow the boy would be fatherless 
and sobbing his heart out in a darkened room. Bar- 
tolomeo, as he held the chattering little fellow in his 
arms, shook to such an extent that even the child's talk 
was stilled and he began — moved by some subtle instinct 
— to be frightened. His father lifted him from Doria's 
lap and told him to run away. Lucien could not under- 
stand his nephew this evening and ascribed his tremor 
to a touch of ague. 

After supper Lucien invited Bartolomeo to come 
into his private room. As they walked along the 
corridor, with Lucien's hand upon his nephew's shoulder, 
Doria — looking through the window — saw four galleys 
approaching. He pointed them out to his uncle as the 
convoy of his cousin Andrea and begged the prince to 
convey an important message to him and to do his cousin 
the honour of sending an escort with it. Lucien was 
only too pleased to gratify his guest and at once ordered 
some fourteen men of his own bodyguard to welcome the 
on-coming fleet. In this way Bartolomeo rid the palace 
of fourteen formidable armed men, of nearly all, in fact, 
who were on duty that night. Andrea — it may be ex- 
plained — was aware of the purpose of Bartolomeo's visit 
to Monaco and was coming to his assistance. 

Lucien and his nephew passed along the corridor, 
entered the prince's room and closed the door after them. 
Outside the door was stationed, according to the routine 
of the palace, a page, a faithful negro, who was devoted 
to his master. Hardly had the door closed than the 

174 



The Lucien Murder 

page heard the prince scream out ' ' Ah ! you traitor ! ' 
He burst into the room to find his master felled to the 
ground and Bartolomeo bending over him, stabbing him 
with a dagger. 

He rushed back along the corridor to give the alarm ; 
but the bodyguard were already on their way to the 
harbour and when the page, with the few men he could 
muster, returned to the prince's room they found it 
already filled with Doria's friends armed to the teeth, 
and the prince dead. 

The alarm soon spread to the town. From every 
door in the narrow streets men poured forth and, armed 
with whatever weapon they could pick up, rushed in a 
furious body to the palace. Bartolomeo — who had hoped 
to seize the citadel — soon saw that his case was hopeless 
and his party outnumbered. He and his friends escaped 
by a back stair, made their way to the harbour and 
gained Andrea's galleys which were now nearing the 
beach. In this way Bartolomeo fled safely to France, 
leaving the little town buzzing with disorder like a 
ravaged beehive and, in a silent room, a sobbing boy 
lying prostrate on the body of his dead father. 



i75 



XXIII 

HOW THE SPANIARDS WERE GOT RID OF 

FOR a number of years Monaco, with that part of 
the Riviera which is adjacent thereto, was under 
the protection of Spain. It is said that the pro- 
tectorate was sought and contrived by Hercules, Prince 
of Monaco. How this mastery of a foreign power arose 
is not so much a matter of interest as how it was got 
rid of. 

Hercules, by the way, came himself to a tragic end. 
He was, in the language of the history books, an 
"unprincipled libertine." He outraged the wives and 
daughters of certain of his subjects. The indignant 
husbands and fathers had no means of redress. There 
was no authority to appeal to above the prince ; so they 
took the matter into their own good hands. One night 
a grim and determined body of men turned out into the 
streets, forced their way into the palace and into the 
prince's bedchamber. They dragged him from his bed, 
cut his throat and threw his dead body over the cliff 
into the sea. This prompt and primitive act of justice 
took place in the year 1604. 

Honorius the First, who succeeded to the prince just 
named, found the protectorate an insufferable burden 
and resented the presence of a Spanish garrison within 
the walls of Monaco. He endured the insolence, the 

176 



How the Spaniards were Got Rid of 

exactions and the oppression of the foreigners for about 
forty years when it came upon him that he could tolerate 
the sight of them no longer. The Spaniards were 
lounging in his courtyard and his barrack square and 
strutting about his battlements to protect him from the 
supposed insidious enemy, France. He did not wish to 
be protected from France. He desired protection from 
the swaggering upstarts from Spain who patronised him, 
patted him metaphorically on the back and told him that 
he need not be afraid for they would look after him. 
Honorius preferred the possible hostility of France to 
the ever-present and offensive guardianship of the 
Spaniards. 

He was tired of being looked after; so one day he 
got into touch with his enemy, the French, and had a 
genial, open-hearted talk with the general. The general 
frankly confessed that this Spanish garrison on the 
frontier was a menace and a hateful thing that grew, 
year by year, more disgustful. No doubt in the course 
of the interview they "said things" about these 
poltroons, these blusterers, these sneering braggarts and 
vied with one another merrily in the invention of crush- 
ing and ingenious terms of abuse. As a result of a 
pleasant chat they entered into a secret compact, the 
conditions of which were simple. Honorius was prepared 
to place Monaco under the French flag if only the 
French would rid him of this abominable old man of 
the sea, the Spaniard. 

The day was near at hand when the Spanish garrison 
would be removed to Nice in order to be relieved by 
a fresh contingent. A very few of the obnoxious 
foreigners would then be left in Monaco. This was the 

M 177 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

day, therefore, arranged for the happy release. It was 
a certain day in November 1641. 

Before the time arrived Honorius introduced into 
Monaco some hundred trusty men from Mentone. They 
came to the rock under all sorts of pretexts. Some 
were to visit friends who did not exist; others were 
coming to repair fortifications that needed no amendment, 
and a strangely large body were called upon to help in 
the palace kitchen which was already overstaffed. Any- 
how they came ; and, at the same time, it was arranged 
that two hundred armed Mentonais were to find hiding- 
places outside the walls, on the cliff side or in the huts 
about the Condamine and the harbours ; while a few, no 
doubt, would seek shelter among the olive groves where 
Monte Carlo and its casino now stand. 

The main body of the Spanish garrison marched off 
to Nice, singing and shouting, for they were on the way 
to their homes in Spain. The disposal of the few who 
remained was left to the ingenuity of a priest, a man 
of resource, one Pacchiero by name. He organised a 
special night service in the church "to pray for the 
defeat of the French should they attack Monaco." The 
Spaniards could do no less than join in this pious exercise. 
The little church was soon filled with men, kneeling row 
upon row and pouring forth petitions for the destruction 
of the ill-intentioned French. 

At 11 p.m. while the service was in progress, the 
glare of a bonfire, on the point of the rock, shot suddenly 
over the sea. It was a good bonfire for the light of its 
flames could be seen from Cap d'Ail to Cap Martin. It 
was a signal to the French that " The Day " had come 
and not only the day but the hour. The French captain, 

178 




o 

-J 
< 

u 

IB 
H 





Q 
Z 

«< 

o 
u 
<* 
z 

o 



How the Spaniards were Got Rid of 

the Comte d'Alais, with a fine body of men under his 
command was looking out eagerly for this flash of fire 
and the moment he saw it he set off with his company 
to Monaco. 

At the same time the Monegasques and the five- 
score absent-minded visitors from Mentone fell upon the 
Spaniards, threw open the gate and admitted the two 
hundred who had been shivering outside in the cold. 
After a sharp fight the scanty garrison was overcome 
and were lodged in a dungeon where they could continue 
their prayers for the ruin of the French at greater 
leisure. 

Next morning the French troops marched into 
Monaco with banners flying and bands playing. They 
were welcomed by the people with songs and cheers and 
noisy enthusiasm. The houses were hung with garlands 
of flowers and all the women were decked out in their 
best. The cheering must have penetrated to the 
dungeons and have been very bitter to the Spaniards 
who had spent so much time in praying for the over- 
throw of these very men whose swinging tramp they 
could hear overhead. 

The prince behaved with much graciousness and 
generosity. He caused the French troops and the 
Spaniards to be paraded in the square and, when 
the crowd had been hushed to silence, he delivered an 
appropriate and, no doubt, impressive address. At its 
conclusion he took from his neck the order of the 
Golden Fleece and handed it to the Spanish captain with 
the request that he would return it to His Majesty of 
Spain with the late wearer's compliments and thanks. 
He then, amid uproarious cheering, donned the white 

179 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

scarf which betokened his allegiance to the King of 
France. The Spaniards he treated with a fine liberality, 
inspired by the grateful knowledge that he would never 
see them again. He allowed the officers to retain their 
swords. He gave to all the soldiers double pay and a 
generous supply of food for their journey. Furthermore 
he presented to the captain a letter in which — with 
some excess of fancy — he dwelt upon the bravery which 
both officers and men had shown under the recent 
disturbing conditions. 

Thus it was that the Spaniards left Monaco and that 
the people of the rock saw the last of them. As they 
marched down the cliff to the high road they were not 
only content but even disposed to be thankful. Some, 
no doubt, were a little sad because they were leaving 
their sweethearts behind in Monaco ; while all — without 
question — were burning to wring the neck of the priest 
who had organised that special night service at which 
they had prayed for the undoing of their now jubilant 
enemies. 

Louis XIII of France was much pleased with the 
part the Prince of Monaco had played in ridding him 
of a Spanish outpost so near to his own territories. 
" He arranged by the treaty of Peronne for the 
independence of Monaco and the protection of a French 
garrison, together with sufficient lands in France to 
compensate for the loss of any Italian revenues con- 
fiscated by Spain. Grimaldi was rewarded by lands in 
France which were called his Duchy of Valentinois." 1 

It was in this manner that the princes of Monaco 
became possessed of the title of Dukes of Valentinois. • 

1 " Old Provence," by T. A. Cook, Vol. ii., p. 158, 1914. 
180 



XXIV 

A MATTER OF ETIQUETTE 

A MONG the minor happenings in the ways of the 
L^L world a disproportionate interest always attaches 
to the breaking off of a marriage engagement. 
The event excites surprise and florid speculation, together 
with a tender and unreasoning sense of regret. It is, 
to the unknowing, as the sudden slamming of a door 
that seemed to open into paradise. The rupture may 
be due to many things, to ill-health or ill- temper, to 
discoveries, to a change of heart, to mean matters 
affecting money or to the lure of a brighter flame. It 
must be rare that the happiness of a devoted couple, on 
the very eve of their wedding, is dangerously threatened 
by a mere matter of etiquette ; yet this happened at 
Monaco — or more precisely in Monaco harbour — about 
the year 1751. 

The reigning prince, Honorius III, became enamoured 
of the beautiful Maria Caterina Brignole. This lady 
had not only a pretty face, but also a great charm of 
character and of mind. The two became engaged. The 
intricate arrangements that attend a princely espousal 
were completed and the date of the wedding was agreed 
upon. 

The day at last came when the bride would arrive at 
Monaco. It was a day of feverish excitement. Every 

181 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

flag that the principality could produce was fluttering 
in the breeze; the country around was stripped of its 
flowers to deck the town; while every wardrobe was 
ransacked to furnish the very gayest head-dress, tunic 
and gown that the owner could boast of. All the 
inhabitants of Monaco — men, women and children — 
poured down to the harbour, leaving the streets deserted 
and the houses empty of all but the crippled or the sick. 
The quay was crammed; the beach was lined to the 
water's edge, while even on the crest of La Turbie was 
a cluster of folk, who, if they could not come down to 
Monaco, were at least determined to see what little they 
could. 

By the harbour-side was the prince in his most 
princely dress, surrounded by the gentlemen of the Court, 
bedecked with every medal, ribbon and star that they 
possessed. Behind the Court officials was the bodyguard, 
ranged in a line and as stiff as a row of gaudily painted 
tin soldiers. On one side of the princely party were the 
musicians and on the other that bevy of maidens dressed 
in white which should always attend the coming of a 
bride. 

The long expected ship swept into the harbour ; came 
alongside the quay in breathless silence and was made 
fast to the landing place. The bodyguard stiffened to 
even more metallic rigidity ; the crowd stood with open 
mouths ready to cheer, while the musicians placed the 
trumpets to their lips prepared to burst forth with the 
National Hymn they had practised upon for so many 
weeks. 

Nothing appropriate to the occasion happened. The 
silence remained unbroken. The prince had sent an 

182 



A Matter of Etiquette 

ambassador to conduct the bride to the shores of Monaco. 
This over-dressed and over-heated official tumbled ashore 
in some disorder and hurried to the presence of the 
motionless prince. He had evidently something to say 
and indeed something startling to say ; for his speech 
led to a conversation that became more and more excited 
until it rose to a veritable babel of voices. He hurried 
back to the ship and there became involved in an equally 
flurried conversation in which the Marchesa di Brignole, 
the mother of the bride, took a prominent and decided 
part. He returned to the quay and set ablaze another 
heated conflagration of words. Before it was quenched 
he leapt back to the vessel and there induced, among 
the expectant company, a second outburst of excited 
speech, attended by much gesticulation. Whatever he 
was doing he was at least a man who encouraged 
conversation. 

Still nothing effective took place. The prince had 
not moved ; the bride had not appeared ; the band was 
still silent; the bodyguard still stiff and the crowd still 
agape. Something evidently had gone wrong and indeed 
very wrong. 

The position — as the multitude came ultimately to 
learn — was this. The question had arisen as to which 
of the august two, the bride or the bridegroom, should 
make the first step towards a meeting. In the case of 
ordinary human beings the man would, no doubt, have 
at once rushed to the ship to embrace the lady; while 
the lady would have hurried to the quay side to find 
herself in the arms of her lover. Possibly as a result 
the two might have fallen into the water, but, at least, 
the meeting would have had a proper emotional interest. 

183 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Now when princes and the brides of princes are 
concerned things are quite different. They cannot 
tumble about like common folk. The prince was advised 
that he must not advance to the ship, because such a 
step would be unbecoming and indeed humiliating. He 
was the Prince of Monaco with his feet upon his own 
territory and whoever came must advance to him and 
not he to them. It was unthinkable that he should 
welcome a visitor to his domain by jumping over the 
sides of ships. If he moved, his honour, his dignity, his 
princely position would be at stake. 

On the other hand the mother of the lady, a little 
red in the face, insisted that it was the duty of the 
bridegroom to meet the bride. It was against decorum 
for the bride to spring ashore as if she were a long 
lost child. To show anxiety to meet her future 
husband was unmaidenly, indelicate and indeed almost 
indecent. 

The prince — as advised — could not give in and the 
marchesa, with head erect and folded arms and a 
disposition to stamp on the deck, declined to modify her 
views as a mother and a woman. So determined was 
this virtuous peeress upon the point that sooner than let 
her innocent daughter take one immodest step towards 
the shore she would break off the engagement and 
regard the wedding contract as annulled. Indeed in her 
indignation she went further. She ordered the captain 
of the ship to cast off and set sail for the port whence 
she had come. 

Now was the opportunity for the mediator, for the 
common-sense man with no nonsense about him, for the 
person with a fertile brain. Some genius among the 

184 




THE CHAPEL OF ST. DEVOTE. 



A Matter of Etiquette 

disputing parties suggested a compromise and a plank. 
The scheme was as follows. A broad plank was to be 
brought and sloped between the vessel and the quay. 
The prince was to take a certain number of steps along 
the plank towards the ship and, at the same moment, 
the bride would take precisely the same number of steps 
towards the shore. By this means the two would meet, 
face to face, exactly in the centre of the plank; the 
bridegroom would then turn on his heels and he and 
the lady would proceed to the shore side by side. 

This ingenious manoeuvre was agreed upon. Its 
execution was watched with gasping interest, for the 
happiness of two fond hearts depended upon its correct 
execution. If the prince took one more step than the 
lady he would be humiliated for ever; whereas if the 
bride ventured an extra pace she could never hide her 
blushes while she lived. The crowd was thrilled; the 
courtiers trembling and the two chief performers as 
nervous as if they had to walk on a tight- rope. 

It ended well. The man and the maid met in the 
exact centre of the plank and, keeping step, marched to 
the shore with the precision of two German soldiers on 
parade. So admirable was the performance that the 
heavy military boot of the prince and the little satin shoe 
of the lady touched the soil of Monaco at the same 
moment. 

The crowd shrieked till they were hoarse ; the 
courtiers bowed to the earth ; the guard became so stiff 
that they nearly fell backwards, while the band let loose 
that National Hymn which had been pent up so long. 

And so — as the story books say — they married and 
lived happily ever after. 

185 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

It only remains to add one other particular. In the 
fullness of time the prince died and the princess married 
again. She married Louis Joseph, Prince of Conde. 
He had been devoted to her for thirty years and, in 
spite of her age, still regarded her as the most beautiful 
creature in the world. 

They were married in London and under circumstances 
which rendered the use of a plank unnecessary. ? 



1 86 



XXV 

THE MONTE CARLO OF THE NOVELIST 

MONTE CARLO, they told me, was a place of 
great wickedness, where every path — though 
lined with flowers — led headlong to the Pit. 
From the many romances which deal with Monte Carlo I 
gathered that it was the seat of an intensive culture in 
iniquity, that it specialised in subtle forms of evil doing 
and that in its pleasances vice blossomed as the rose. 
Among what writers always term ' i the motley crowd ' ' 
in this fictitious borough were men of quite exceptional 
depravity, women more accomplished than Delilah and 
crafty foreigners of the yellow-skinned and black-haired 
variety who are far too foreign to be real. Suicide, I 
understood, prevailed as an endemic disease. 

I arrived at the principality on Christmas Eve and, 
owing to some train derangement, at an hour a little 
short of midnight. I approached this place — which those 
who are careless of terms describe as " a Hell " — with 
anxious interest. When the train came to a standstill 
I found myself in a quiet, ill-lit station, precisely like 
fifty other stations on the line. I resented this. I 
resented even the fact that the magic name " Monte 
Carlo " was portrayed in quite homely and decorous 
letters. I expected to see a number of peculiarly evil 
men alight from the train ; but they were not in evidence. 

187 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

They probably " slipped away in the gloom/ ' as they 
do in the books. The only passengers I noticed were a 
very weary old lady and her maid. The lady was respect- 
able almost to extinction and was absorbed by concern 
for her many hand bags and her obtuse dog. 

I had been led to think that at midnight the grosser 
revels of Monte Carlo would be at their height; so in 
the drive to the hotel I expected to be shocked and 
grieved. I found myself, on the contrary, passing through 
pleasant streets as silent as those that encircle a cathedral 
close. The streets, moreover, were practically empty 
and for the morality and integrity of the few who passed 
by I was prepared to vouch even in the dark. 

I thought I might see through some open window a 
room glaring with light and reeking with the ill odours, 
the ribald sounds and the drunken antics of a supper 
table. Possibly, through another window, I should 
behold wild-haired men and shamelessly dressed women 
bending over a green cloth speckled with cards. I saw 
only sleeping villas and drowsy gardens that breathed 
nothing but content and peace. With the romances 
working in my mind it would have been hardly a matter 
of surprise had I come upon a man in dress clothes, 
lying on his back in the pathway, with a wet crimson 
patch spreading over the front of his white shirt. Happily 
I saw no such thing. Monte Carlo, so far, had failed ; 
failed in that it was not the place I had been led to 
expect by the writers of fiction. 

Next morning, before the sun rose, I stepped out of 
my bedroom window on to the balcony to take a first 
look at the amazing city. It was now Christmas Day 
and still very dark. From the height at which I stood I 

188 



The Monte Carlo of the Novelist 

appeared to be looking into a limitless vault with above 
a dome of the deepest blue, dotted with stars, and below 
a floor flooded by a sea whose surface was as ruffled 
metal. 

The only light came from a gap in the east, at the 
uttermost limit of the vast water. It was a rare and 
tender light that seemed to be reflected up from the 
depths. A level band of orange stretched along the sea 
and over it was a wash of cowslip yellow that, fading into 
the half-suggested green of an opening leaf, was lost 
higher still in a flood of blue. Against this ineffable 
glow stood up, in a black, hard silhouette, the tops of 
houses. 

It was evident that on the slope below me was a town 
and, at the foot of the town, a harbour. The town was 
a mere dark mass, so confused that it might have been 
a jumble of black rocks, save that, here and there, were 
tiny lights — lights evidently in upper windows. From 
one hidden casement near by, that must have been open 
and uncurtained, a gleam fell upon the side of a villa 
revealing every detail of shutter and balcony as well as 
a strip of bright ornament painted on the wall. The 
harbour was made manifest by two black piers with a 
light at the end of each — one green, one red — by a sheen, 
like that of quicksilver, on the water in the basin and by 
a row of lamps upon the three sides of the quay. 

Beyond the harbour was a towering dull mass that I 
knew to be Monaco. It was picked out by a few dots 
of light which came, no doubt, from scattered rooms 
and by vague towers scarcely visible before the sullen 
curtain of the sky. 

To the east there stood out, very cleanly cut against 

189 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

so unreal, so daring. It conforms to the type of no 
ordinary building. Its architecture is not of this world 
of common things, although it may possibly approach that 
of the exuberant temple in white on the top of a wedding 
cake. 

The Casino, in its extravagance, is indeed just such 
a castle in the air as a young man would build, a 
fabric of his dream, his palace of delight. The very 
town tingles with life, with excitement, with restless- 
ness, with the playfulness of everything. It is a butterfly 
town, for it lives only for a few gay months. The air 
is laden with the scent of flowers, while the honeymoon 
wind lies asleep on the heaving bosom of the deep. 

Moreover it is a town of the south, of the warm, 
indolent south, where, as Sancho Panza would say, there 
is — whatever happens — " still sun on the wall." Here 
in the south, as compared with the north, the seasons 
are reversed. The winter is the time for pleasure; the 
summer for rest, for seclusion within shut doors and, it 
may be, for forgetfulness of things. 

The winter in the north is symbolic of the closing 
days of life and of the weariness of old age ; for the 
world has then become cold, dark and cheerless, as well 
as indifferent and possibly unkind. The summer in the 
south is, in its turn, the symbol of the end of the pageant 
of youth. The gardens are faded and parched up, the 
flowers are withered and dead, the grass is a waste of 
arid brown, the fountains are dry and the very earth is 
cracked with thirst. The world, spent and panting, 
has sunk into a drugged sleep like a man exhausted by 
a fever. The days of riotous living have come to an end ; 
passion has burnt itself out; the rivers of pleasure are 

192 



Monte Carlo 

now beds of stone and the Dead Sea apple is the only 
fruit left on the tree. 

As the southern winter begins again the freshly-sown 
grass springs up ; the lawns become green ; the buds 
open; the roses, the heliotrope, the geraniums and the 
mimosa break into flower and the world is as gay as the 
sun and a caressing wind can make it. 

It is then a tempting time to think of the drab, mist- 
shrouded island of England with its sodden fields and 
the rain dripping from the thatch, of London, of those 
sad houses and those awful streets, of the slush-covered 
roads, of the muffled faces and the blue hands, of the 
hours of semi-darkness, of the sun that is seen as a red 
disc in a fog. 

Because Monte Carlo, as a town, appears to be sym- 
bolic of all that is young it must not be assumed that its 
inhabitants have acquired eternal youth. Many attempt 
it, many struggle to attain it with an eagerness which is 
pathetic and pitiable. They are like gaily-dressed ghosts, 
a little stiff in movement, following a figure that dances 
before them like a faun. There is a butterfly called 
"The Painted Lady" and perhaps it will suffice to say 
that the existence of this fluttering thing will come often 
to the minds of those who stroll along the Terrace in 
the sun. 

Apart from its suggestion of youthfulness Monte Carlo 
is a town full of remarkable contrasts as extreme as the 
black shadow of a cypress on a marble wall. On one side 
of the haven, with its chapel to Ste. Devote, rises the 
great rock of Monaco. On its summit stand the palace, 
the fortress and the little town — all three so staid, so 

grey, so very, very old — just as they have stood in com- 

n 193 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

pany through some six hundred years. On the other 
side of the chapel, on rising ground, lies Monte Carlo, 
modern in every fibre of its being, a town that has sprung 
up in a night like a gaudily-tinted fungus, a brilliant, 
vivid place, slashed with colour like a jester's coat, as 
ephemeral as a rainbow, since any change in the public 
taste may cause it to fade into nothingness. 

On the crest of the hill above Monte Carlo there 
stands, against the skyline, the massive monument in 
stone set up by the Emperor Augustus to mark the 
victory of Rome over a horde of savages ; while below, 
by the edge of the sea, are the pinnacles of the Casino, 
a monument in papier mache to mark the subjection of 
a cultured folk to the mastery of a passion. 

Climbing the mountain behind the town is still the 
ancient road that, more than two thousand years ago, led 
from the Roman forum into Gaul ; while, by the water's 
edge, on the other hand, are the railway, the motor 
track and a hydroplane that has just flown over from 
Corsica. 

All around Monte Carlo, from the east to the west, 
are the cave-dwellings of prehistoric men, a brutish people 
clad in wolf skins ; while in the town itself are hotels of 
unparalleled luxury and, on the Terrace, a company of 
pampered men and women decked in all the " purple and 
fine linen " that the world can provide. 

Still more curious is it that the great modern forts 
of Mont Agel and the Tete de Chien actually look down 
upon a line of fortified camps and stone strongholds 
built by the Ligurians before the dawn of history. 



194 



T 



XXVII 

SOME DIVERSIONS OF MONTE CARLO 

flP^HE General Atinosphere. — The atmosphere of 
Monte Carlo is the subject of some comment. 
It is in fact complained of. The air over the 
town is not said to be unpleasant in colour; it is not, 
for example, stated to be green or yellow. The charge 
is that the atmosphere is "vitiated." Now in the 
dictionary "to vitiate" is said to mean "to corrupt, 
debase or contaminate " and therefore the accusation is 
a grave one. 

In defence it can be claimed that the moral atmosphere 
in Monte Carlo is not so vitiated as it is in London or 
in Paris. There are visitors to the principality — both 
men and women — who are indulgently described as 
' ' undesirable ' ' ; but they are not peculiar to Monte 
Carlo, nor do they form even a conspicuous item in its 
holiday population. 

Moreover the innocent visitor to the town is not 
of necessity thrust into the society of these people. If 
they are not desired they can be avoided as easily as they 
can be at Trouville or at Brighton. Monte Carlo may 
not be sanctimonious, but it does not flaunt its vices as 
some towns do their virtues. 

Moreover so well is Monte Carlo controlled that the 
young lady, when necessity demands, can walk from the 

i95 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

Optra House to her hotel without Eear of being incom- 
moded, n venture that she would not essay in either 
London or Paris j while she will see less to offend her 
on the Casino Terrace than in the Hois de Boulogne. As 

for the young man he is more free from molestation in 

i lie boulevards o[' Monte Carlo than he would be in 
Regent Street. 

Those who wish to live the plain, unemotional life o\' 
a French country town will find that Monte Carlo fulfils 
their needs. They will meet with neither shocks nor 
distractions unless I hey seek them; tor the circle within 
which the florid society of the town revolves is like 
the roulette wheel — extremely small ; whereas the quiet 
streets of Monaco, the olive groves, the hill paths, the 
lonely walks form a world that opens far. 

The Gambling.— The strictures bestowed upon the 
gaming rooms art 4 apt to be a little violent and sweeping. 
I assume that no one can say a word in favour of 
gambling, nor even excuse it. It is no doubt a feeble 
apology to claim that there are degrees of gambling, 
that every race-course and every Bourse exhibits a more 
pernicious and more damaging form of u play M than can 
be laid to the charge of the Casino. The gambler at 
Monte Carlo injures no one directly but himself. TTe 
knows at least that the Administration is above suspicion 
and that the same virtue cannot be claimed for the 
whole body oi' bookmakers. Gambling on the public 
markets may implicate innocent people to their undoing 

and when ii deals with the necessaries oi' life and leads 

to the making of " corners " in this commodity or in 
that it may involve a whole community in loss and 
distress. There is indeed a wide difference between 

196 







I 



U 



Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

gambling with plaques on a green cloth and gambling 
with corn. 

Play at the Casino is for the reckless rich and the 
foolish and these happen to be two varieties of mankind 
peculiarly difficult to control. When once it is under- 
stood that, in the long run, the Tables must win and 
do win then let the poor man be advised. The fool will 
not accept advice, the rich man does not need it and 
so the game goes on. 

It is, no doubt, an equally feeble defence to point 
out that the Casino does great good with its gains. It 
keeps the little principality in perfect order and makes 
it a reliable health resort. It is no vain boast to say 
that Monte Carlo is the cleanest and trimmest town in 
France, that it is dustless and that its sanitation is good. 
The Casino provides the police and the public officers, 
maintains the roads and a garden which is the delight 
of many, while it affords to its people a degree of comfort 
and security which is not to be belittled at the present 
day. Moreover through funds derived from the Adminis- 
tration churches and museums are built, schools and 
hospitals are maintained and real poverty is abolished. 
These facts do not make gambling a virtue, but they 
serve to temper a slashing and wholly destructive 
criticism. 

A large proportion of people gamble for what they 
call "the fun of the thing." The term is difficult to 
define, but if they find amusement and can afford that 
amusement there is little to be said. 

It is unnecessary to describe the salles de jeu. They 
have been pictured — with exact or inexact details — a 
hundred times and have figured more often in works of 

197 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

fiction than have any other actual apartments in the 
world. The miscellaneous people who cluster round the 
tables are said to provide an interesting study in faces. 
The study is limited. All are supposed to be " playing " 
— playing, it may be assumed, as children play at a game 
— but their countenances are so sad and so serious that 
a stranger to the "games" of modern life might think 
that they were sitting round a post-mortem table with 
a deceased person laid out on the cloth. An observer 
endowed with especial gifts might detect evidences of 
greed, of anxiety, of despair, of forlorn hope, but to an 
ordinary looker-on there is little to note beyond a general 
expression of uneasy boredom. 

The Pigeon Shooting. — There is one blot on Monte 
Carlo — a large, crimson blot — in the form of the pigeon 
shooting. This diversion takes place on a pleasant green 
just below the terrace of the Casino, between it and the 
sea. There lies a level lawn upon which one might 
expect to see lads and lasses playing croquet ; but in the 
centre of the grass are certain slabs of concrete arranged 
in a curve with horrible precision. They may be the 
marks upon which blindfolded criminals are stood when 
ranged out to be shot, but this execution yard is used 
for a different purpose. 

On the concrete disks, when the sport is in progress, 
iron traps are placed and into each of these a pigeon, 
half-crazed with fright, is stuffed. The trap drops open 
with a clatter, the bird sees before it the quiet blue of 
heaven, rises on its wings, and in a second is either 
maimed or dead. If not too badly wounded it may 
flutter over the fence and fall into the sea to be grabbed 
by a man in a boat, for some half-dozen boats are always 

198 



Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

waiting under the lee of the rock for such choice 
windfalls. 

People in some numbers watch this vile massacre 
from the terrace, but their concern — almost to a man 
— is with the pigeon. If the pigeon escapes unharmed, 
as occasionally happens, there is a gasp of relief and 
gratification. The bird so saved generally alights on the 
Casino roof and, in course of time, no doubt joins the 
fearless crowd of pigeons who haunt the roadway and 
strut among the out-of-door tables of the Cafe de Paris. 
There is a curious bond uniting this community of birds, 
the common tie of having been condemned to death and 
of having been by accident reprieved. 

In pigeon shooting from traps there is not the faintest 
element of sport. It is merely an exhibition of mean 
brutality which is totally opposed to the British concep- 
tion of sport and it is gratifying to note that among the 
competitors in this contemptible game an English name 
is uncommon. The terrified pigeon pegged out to be 
shot at has practically no chance, while the skill displayed 
by the most apt of the pseudo-sportsmen is of a paltry 
order. 

To realise a turning of the tables it should happen 
one day that the sides of the trap would drop and reveal, 
not a shivering pigeon, but a live man-eating tiger who, 
with his yellow and black stripes showing well against 
the green, would stalk, snarling, towards the firing party. 
It would be interesting to see these deadly marksmen 
bolt screaming right and left and throw themselves into 
the sea to be picked up by the boatmen on the look-out 
for wounded pigeons. 

The Theatre. — The opera, the concerts and the minor 

199 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

entertainments at Monte Carlo are famous and are 
allowed to be of very high order. A series of ballets 
also occupies the season and these too are approved by 
heads of families. It is to be owned that in most of the 
ballets a love element is prominent, but the love-making 
is conducted on such formal and gymnastic lines that it 
is not likely to encourage imitators. 

The young man, according to accepted practice, 
pursues the lady. In doing so he revolves like a top, 
while she also gyrates after the manner of that toy. He 
rubs his chest with his hand to show that his heart is 
affected. She then lifts her foot above her head to show 
that she is unmoved by the information. He pursues 
her again but this time with bounds. She retreats with 
tiny steps and ultimately takes refuge in the extreme 
corner of the stage by the footlights. Here she wriggles 
her shoulders and puts a forefinger in the corner of her 
mouth. He is much encouraged by these evidences of 
a dawning amiability and leaps repeatedly into the air. 
They then dance together with some exuberance and 
finally he grasps her by the waist and turns her upside 
down, so that her head rests on the boards. This shows 
that they are engaged ; a conclusion which is approved 
by a sudden crowd of lightly clad villagers in antics of 
bewildering violence. 

The Dog Show. — A feature of the season at Monte 
Carlo is the Dog Show. It is held on the terrace and 
is unique of its kind. It is not really a dog show but 
rather a dogs' afternoon party or conversazione, where 
dogs of both sexes meet, renew acquaintances, gossip 
after their fashion with much tail-wagging and at times 
cut one another or quarrel. There are no stands upon 

200 






Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

which the dogs are staged, no kennels, no baskets with 
rugs in which they lie curled up and bored to death, no 
posts to which they can be tied and howl. There are 
no placards, no cards, no advertisements of dog biscuits, 
no straw and, indeed, none of the paraphernalia of an 
actual dog show. 

The affair is, in reality, a Show of Dog Owners held 
for the edification and amusement of the dogs and, 
incidentally, of others. The dog owners (mostly ladies) 
are dressed in their very best, as they should be when 
on show, and are led about by the dogs through a cheerful, 
rambling crowd. At intervals a man with a megaphone 
shouts from the bandstand the names of certain dog 
owners. Whereupon the dogs lead their owners, thus 
selected, into a circle beneath the megaphone and some 
judging takes place. There is a general hubbub, much 
chattering and barking and some craning of necks when 
an exceptionally pretty owner occupies the ring. 

At the end rosettes, as badges of merit, are handed 
to the fortunate and are affixed to the dogs' collars. 
The dog who is pleased with what his owner has won 
trots off with contentment and with the lady ; but the 
dog who is dissatisfied sits obstinately down, in spite of 
all protests, and proceeds to remove the offensive emblem 
with his foot. 

Golf. — In the early hours of the day there is often 
a spectacle provided in Monte Carlo which is difficult to 
appreciate. A number of persons — young, middle-aged 
and ancient, male and female — will arise at an unwonted 
hour, scramble through breakfast and start to climb up 
a cliff of 3,000 feet. They cannot be making this arduous 
ascent to see the sun rise, for the sun is already up. 

201 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

They can hardly be contemplating a view from the 
height, for the hill may be hidden in mist. They could 
not be hastening to a pilgrimage church to pray, because 
they do not look devotional enough ; nor is there a 
suggestion of piety in their dress, for they wear boots 
heavy with nails, knickerbockers and a reckless type of 
hat. 

They are ascending some 3,000 feet under arduous 
conditions for the purpose of knocking a ball — a small 
and expensive ball — along the ground with a stick. This 
is golf; a proceeding that is with many one of the rare 
joys of life. Golf has many charms and not the least is 
that it is a game for everyone. It fires the youth with 
ambition and comforts the aged, for it fosters the delusion 
that the end of their days is not yet. The inefficient can 
play with the expert, without heartburnings and without 
reproach and receive sympathy in the place of sarcasm. 
The lamb, indeed, can lie down with the lion and now 
and then bleat, in the golfer's tongue, "like as we lie." 
The man who wishes to be alone can play alone. The 
man who loves company can " go round " in a party of 
four and chatter to them all at once and all the time. 
Golf too is a discipline, for the spirit of golf is hope. 
The golfer who has abandoned hope is lost. Lost too is 
the fatalist who knows he is in a bunker before he gets 
there. 

Golf, moreover, is played under pleasant conditions 
in the open air, among sand dunes, or by sea beaches, 
or on breezy downs and in light-hearted surroundings ; 
for there are few links that are not picturesque and 
cheery. It is besides a pleasant game to watch for the 
human element in it is so interesting. There is, for 

202 • 



Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

example, that fascinating disproportion between the effort 
made and the result that may be attained. The man at 
the tee stands with rigid limbs, with every muscle tense, 
with clenched teeth and a fixed glare in the eye. Then 
comes a swish with a club that — if a sword — would 
decapitate an ox and, as a result, the ball dribbles 
languidly a few mocking feet. If the man fails by mis- 
applied violence the lady is apt to fail by moulding her 
action on the photographic pose of lady players in the 
society journals. She wants to get to the "follow 
through " attitude, when her club will be in the air, her 
face in a good light and the tip of her right shoe just 
touching the ground. 

The caddies too are an interesting company to watch. 
Being young they are unable to restrain the expression of 
the emotions and this is often disconcerting. When a 
fine shot is made the aspect of the caddie is that of 
serious anxiety, for he has to keep the ball in sight. 
When a really bad stroke is taken he must laugh and 
when he is compelled — in order to conceal his laughter — 
to bury his face in the breast of a fellow-caddie the sight 
of the convulsed boy, hanging on to a friend, calls for 
great restraint on the part of the player. 

The fragments of English picked up by foreign 
caddies are always curious and nearly always unhappy. 
I recall a caddie in Egypt who spoke nothing but 
Arabic ; but who, after a very woeful shot burst out, to 
my surprise, with the petulant remark, " Hell's own 
luck! ' I learnt later that he used to "carry" for a 
profane judge. 

An excellent motor-bus service takes the golfer up to 
the links direct, or, if he prefers it, he can ascend by 

203 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

train to La Turbie and climb the rest of the way by 
the path. The links are on a breezy plateau just below 
the peak of Mont Agel and at the height of some 8,000 
feet above the sea. It is a plateau that means well, that 
intends to be orderly but is always backsliding and 
reverting to savagery. It is constantly tempted to break 
out into a precipice or lapse into a gorge but restrains 
itself just in time. Its praiseworthy efforts to become 
a green plateau are almost pathetic but it gives way 
often and original sin crops out in the form of horrible 
rocks. 

The result is an area of rugged land of great variety 
and picturesqueness, a beautiful medley of half-tamed 
meads and wild boulders, of smooth lawns like sheets of 
green velvet amid grey and wizened crags. The view is 
astounding. To the north are the Maritime Alps, peak 
after peak, deep in snow ; to the south is the warm, blue 
Mediterranean and, often enough, the ghostly island of 
Corsica lying on the sea like a lilac cloud. On either 
side is a stretch of coast of immeasurable extent, leading 
far down into Italy on the east and, on the west, ranging 
beyond the Lerin Islands and the Esterels to St. Tropez, 
near Hyeres, a distance of some fifty miles. The club 
house is a model of modern comfort and as the restaurant 
is controlled by the Hotel de Paris the golfer and the 
crowd of visitors can obtain as good a lunch on this 
bare mountain-top as they would obtain in Monte Carlo 
and that too with a better appetite. The success of the 
club is largely due to the untiring efforts of the secretary, 
Mr. Galbraith Horn, whose geniality, capacity and 
kindness are held in grateful memory by every visitor to 
Mont Agel. 

204 



Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 

Coming back from the links in the motor-bus the 
whispered conversations that may be overheard are 
illustrative and will vary much according to the speaker. 
A fat man may be saying, " The gravy was the best I 
ever tasted," and the lean man, "Although I did it in 
five I had to halve the hole " ; while a lady may remark, 
"Well! how she could come out in that hat I don't 
know!" 



205 



XXVIII 

AN OLD ROMAN POSTING TOWN 

AROUND Monte Carlo the mountains crowd down 
to the sea with such menace as to threaten to 
push the light-hearted town into the deep, for 
the sloping ledge to which it holds is narrow. Thus it 
is that hanging above Monte Carlo is a steep mountain 
side, half slope, half precipice, green wherever an olive 
tree or a pine can cling, grey where the rock lies bare or 
where the cliff soars upwards. 

On the summit of this stupendous barrier and at a 
height of 1,574 feet is La Turbie. Gazing up from the 
streets of Monte Carlo the place can be located, although 
neither its walls, nor its houses nor any part of it are 
visible ; but it is indicated by two remarkable objects 
which stand out clear on the sky line. They are strange 
and ill-assorted. One of the objects is a vast pillar oi 
tower of stone, of the colour of a wheat stalk. From 
the Casino garden, half a mile below, it looks like a 
gigantic brick standing on end and turned edgeways. 
This is the Roman monument of Augustus erected over 
1,900 years ago. The other object, placed by its side, 
is a coral-pink hotel that may have sprung up in the 
night. Its outline is intentionally fantastic for it is built 
in "the Oriental style" in the belief that the simpl< 
might mistake it for a mosque or a palace of the caliphs. 

206 








LA TURBIE : THE ROMAN MONUMENT. 



An Old Roman Posting Town 

In spite of its appearance it is popular and well esteemed. 
It is a theatrical creation as gaudy as if it were flooded 
by a rose-tinted limelight and as out of place on the 
top of the stately cliff as a cheap Paris bonnet on the 
head of the Venus de Milo. 

There are many ways of reaching La Turbie from the 
lower ground. For carriages there is the Cemetery road. 
It is so called, not because it is dangerous to motorists, 
but because it passes a cemetery. It winds in and out 
among the prehistoric fortifications of Mont des Mules 
and Mont Justicier, but is so irresolute, so capricious, so 
inclined to go any way rather than up hill to La Turbie 
that the route is exasperating. The track of the road is 
like the track of a drunken man who has become obstinate 
and deaf to all persuasions to go straight home. 

There are two mule paths up to the town, one on 
either side of the Vallon des Gaumates, the Moneghetti 
path on the west and the Bordina on the east. These paths 
are at least direct and know where they are going. They 
are paved with cobble stones, are arranged in long steps, 
are as monotonous as a treadmill and probably as tiring. 
They are paths that might have climbed up the penitential 
heights in Dante's " Purgatorio." Still they pass by 
pleasant ways among the shadows of the olives and the 
slips of garden piled one above the other on green ledges. 
Moreover they are the old primitive roads of the country, 
the roads trod by the mediaeval pedlar, by the wandering 
monk and by the errant knight. Of all works of man 
throughout the ages they are among the oldest and the 
least disturbed by change. 

It is possible also to reach La Turbie from Monte 
Carlo by the rack-and-pinion railway. The traveller sits 

207 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

in a carriage that slopes like a roof and is pushed up hill 
from behind by an engine that puffs like an asthmatic 
person overpowered by rage. There are three stations to 
be passed on the way. Nothing happens at two of these 
stations except that the train stops. It is merely a 
ceremonial act. There would be anxiety and inquiries 
of the guard if anyone got in or got out. One station is 
in a drear rocky waste, far removed from the haunts of 
men. The only passenger that could be expected to 
alight here would be a scapegoat laden with the sins of 
Monte Carlo and eager to get away from the unquiet 
world and be lost in the wilderness. 

La Turbie, or Turbia, was a Roman town. It stood 
on the famous road that led from Rome into Gaul. It 
was a busy and prosperous place that probably attained 
to its greatest importance about two thousand years ago, 
for the towrPgoes back to a period before the time of 
Christ. When La Turbie was at the height of its vigour 
Monaco was a barren rock. Indeed when the first build- 
ing appeared upon Monaco La Turbie was already more 
than twelve centuries old. 

The ancient Roman road — the Aurelian Way as it 
was called — ran from the Forum at Rome to Aries on 
the banks of the Rhone. Its total length, according to 
Dr. George Miiller, was 797 miles. It was commenced 
in the year B.C. 241 and its construction occupied many 
decades. 

Starting from the Forum it followed the coast north- 
wards. It passed through Pisa, Spezia and Genoa. 
Then turning westwards it came to Ventimiglia, where 
it followed the line of the present main street. It passed 
through Bordighera, along the Strada Romana of that 

208 



An Old Roman Posting Town 

town, and creeping under the foot of the Rochers Rouges 
it entered Mentone. It crossed the little torrent of St. 
Louis close to the beach and then began to mount 
upwards. Its course through Mentone is indicated by 
the Rue Longue. Thence it ascended to the Mont 
Justicier and so reached the crest of the hill at La Turbie. 
Between Mentone and La Turbie there are still to be 
found traces of this ancient highway which have been 
left undisturbed among the olive woods. 

The road entered La Turbie by that gate which is 
still called the Portail Romain, made its way through 
the town with no little pomp and passed out by the 
Portail de Nice on the west. It now crossed the present 
Grand Corniche road, which it followed for a while, and 
then dipped pleasantly into the valley of Laghet. Leav- 
ing the convent on its right it turned to La Trinite-Victor 
and so moved onwards until it reached V e great and 
important Roman city of Cimiez, then known as 
Cemenelum. Here we may take leave of it. 

On this venerable highway La Turbie occupied a 
position of much interest. It marked the highest 
point attained by the Via Aureliana in its long journey. 
To the Romans it was the "Alpis summa." It 
stands on the ridge or col which connects Mont Agel 
with the Tete de Chien and represents the summit of 
the pass between those heights. More than that — as a 
landmark visible for miles — it pointed out to the 
world the ancient frontier between Italy and Gaul and, 
in later years, the line that divided Provence from 
Liguria. 

To the Roman traveller by the Aurelian Way La 
Turbie was a place of some significance. It was a goal 
o 209 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

to be attained. When once the weary man had passed 
through the gate of Turbia he could sit himself down 
on a cool bench in its shady street, wipe his brow, loosen 
his pack, let drop his staff and feel that the worst of the 
journey was over. He had crossed the frontier into Gaul 
and was almost within sight of the comforting city of 
Cemenelum of which old travellers, gossiping in the 
Forum, had told so much. 

La Turbie was a posting town that marked a critical 
stage in the journey from the Eternal City. It was a 
place of great bustle and commotion in the spacious 
Roman days, for companies, large or small, were con- 
stantly arriving or leaving and whichever way they went 
they must halt at the col. How often children playing 
outside the gate would suddenly rush back to their 
mothers, with shrill cries, to say that they could see a 
party winding up the hill towards the town ! How often 
the people would hurry out to see what kind of folk 
they were and to guess as to their means and their 
needs ! 

Sometimes it would be a body of Roman soldiers, 
marching in rigid column, under the command of a 
dignified centurion. At another time some great 
patrician, with his vast retinue, would mount up to the 
town. He would grumble, no doubt, at the steepness 
of the hill, but would be coaxed by the bowing governor 
to come to the edge of the cliff and look down upon 
Monaco Bay and upon the glorious line of coast spread 
out upon either side of it. The patrician lady, alighting 
from her litter, would thrill the little place with curiosity 
and excitement. The young women of La Turbie would 
note keenly the fashion of her dress — the last new mode 

210 




A CORNER IN LA TURBIE. 



An Old Roman Posting Town 

of Rome — and the manner in which her hair was " done " 
in order to imitate both the one and the other when the 
grande dame had swept on to Aries. The suite at the 
patrician's heels would be accosted by the gossips of La 
Turbie and by the young men about town eager to glean 
the latest news from the great city, news from the lips of 
men who but a month or so ago had strolled about the 
Forum or had viewed some amazing spectacle from the 
galleries of the Coliseum. 

The slaves, who led the pack-horses and carried the 
litters, would chat with the local slaves in the stables and 
in the meaner wine shops and discuss the general trend 
of affairs in this outcast, deity-deserted country and com- 
pare the vices of their respective masters and the meanness 
or beauty of their respective ladies. Even the dogs in 
the cavalcade would excite the interest of the dogs on 
the hill. One may imagine the supercilious sniff with 
which the dog that had tramped all the way from Rome 
would regard the dog stranded on this bleak col and the 
snarl with which the La Turbie dog — more wolf than 
dog — would challenge the pampered intruder. 

At another time a company of traders would pass 
through the town — strangely-garbed men speaking an 
unknown tongue and followed by a train of mules and 
donkeys laden with bales of rare stuffs and with panniers 
filled with mysterious and glittering things. One can see 
the pretty girl of La Turbie coaxing a grey-bearded 
merchant in a black burnous to open a pannier and let 
her have a peep and picture the staring eyes of the crowd 
that would hang over her shoulder. 

On another day a troupe of Roman dancing girls 
would trip through the gate with a ripple of bright colour 

211 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

and with roguish glances, to the great disturbance of 
the young men of La Turbie who would be too shy to 
speak to them, too unready to reply to their city banter 
and too conscious of their own gaucherie. 

On occasion, too, a party of gladiators would swagger 
along on their way to the arena of Cimiez, splendid men, 
perfect in form, firm of foot, alert in carriage they 
would swing down the street with a rhythmical step 
and would be followed by the children through the 
gate and far along the road, and followed, too, by the 
eyes of every young woman in La Turbie who could 
find a window or a gap on the wall that gave a view 
of the highway. 

The main street of the town, along which the great 
road bustled, must have presented, on these days of 
coming or going, a scene of much animation. Here were 
the chief inns and the wine booths, the little local shops, 
the fruit stalls, the cobbler's vaulted niche where sandals 
were repaired, the cutler's store very bright with bronze, 
the houses of the dealers in corn and fodder and most 
assuredly some begrimed hut where an old crone sold 
curiosities and souvenirs of the place, native weapons and 
ornaments, a hillman's headdress, strange coins dug up 
outside the walls, bright pieces of ore found among the 
mountains, the local snake in a bottle, some wolf's teeth 
and a shell or two from Monaco beach. In the lesser 
streets would be the stables for the pack-horses and the 
mules, the cellars for goods in transit, the hovels for the 
slaves, the moneylenders* dens, the compounds for the 
soldiers and the huts of the wretched wild-eyed Ligurians 
who. under the lash of their masters, did the mean work 
of the town. 

j la 



An Old Roman Posting Town 

La Turbie was indeed in these times a great cara- 
vanserai, a halting place on the march of civilisation, a 
post by the side of the inscrutable road that led from the 
wonder-teeming East to the dull, una wakened land of 
the West, a road that carried with it the makings of a 
people who would dominate the world when the power 
and the glory of Rome had passed away. 



213 




XXIX 

THE TOWER OF VICTORY 

F Turbia of the Roman days practically no trace 
exists with the notable exception of the Great 
Monument which is very much more than a trace. 
After the Romans went away La Turbie — although well 
stricken in years — was subjected to that pitiless discipline 
which straitened and embittered the younger days of 
every town along the shores of the Mediterranean. Its 
history differs but in detail from the early history of Nice 
or Eze, or of Roquebrune. The Lombards and the 
Saracens in turn fell upon it like wild beasts and shook 
it nearly to death. It was burned to a mere heap of 
cinders and stones. It was looted with a thoroughness 
that not even a modern German could excel. It was 
besieged and taken over and over again. At one time 
the Guelphs held it and at another the Ghibellines. It 
was bought and sold and had as many successive masters 
as there were masters to have. It belonged now to Genoa 
and then to Ventimiglia, now to Monaco and then to 
Eze. 

Throughout the restless Middle Ages it was a small 
fortified town of little military importance. It had its 
circuit of walls and its gates, its keep and its battlements ; 
but, at its best, it was a place with more valour than 
strength. No doubt it looked sturdy enough on the top 

214 



The Tower of Victory 

of the hill, a neat compact town as round as a jar with 
the great white Roman monument erect in its midst, 
like a dead lily in a stone pot. 

During the intervals when it was not being looted 
or burned it was treated with some dignity ; for when 
the Counts of Provence were the masters of La Turbie 
they nominated a chdtelain or governor from among " the 
first gentlemen of Nice.'* The distinction thus conferred 
was a little marred by the fact that the gentleman was 
not required to reside in the town. Gentlemen with very 
sonorous names and connected with " the best families V 
were, from time to time, nominated for this post ; but 
they do not seem to have added much to the comfort of 
the place as a residence. 1 

The visitor to La Turbie, whether he arrives by the 
rack-and-pinion railway or by the mule-path, will assuredly 
make his way at once to the Belvedere to see that view 
which has moved the guide books to such unanimous 
rapture. He will probably be met on his way by a man 
— very foreign in appearance — who will wish to sell him 
an opera glass on one morning and a square of carpet 
on the next. He will also come upon a camera obscura, 
set up for the benefit of those who prefer to see through 
a glass darkly and who would sooner view a scene when 
reflected on a white table-cloth in a dark room than gaze 
upon it with the naked eye. 

At the camera obscura kiosk postcards are sold to- 
gether with articles which the vendor asserts are souvenirs 
and mementoes of La Turbie. These things for remem- 
brance are hard to understand. One wonders why a 

polished slate inkstand from Paris, a mineral from 

* 

1 " Chorographie du Comt6 de Nice," by Louis Durante, 1847. 

21.5 



/ 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

(possibly) a Cornish mine, a sea-shell from the tropics 
or some beads from Cairo should call to mind a mediaeval 
town in Provence and the wars of the Guelphs and the 
Ghibellines. 

When the pilgrim in his progress has passed both the 
man with the carpet and the things that will keep green 
the memory of La Turbie he can enjoy the view that 
opens out on the edge of the cliff. It is a view that not 
even a camera obscura can enhance. There is the line of 
coast that sweeps from Bordighera on the east to the 
Esterels on the west ; while below, as a bright splash of 
yellow, white and red, is Monte Carlo. The spectator 
looks directly down upon Monte Carlo as he would view 
a thing on the pavement from the top of a tower. It is 
not often that one can see at a glance an entire European 
state from frontier to frontier and from seaboard to 
hinterland ; but here is laid out before the eye every 
foot of the principality of Monaco as complete as on 
a map. 

Monte Carlo is largely a display of roofs among which 
it is possible to pick out those of familiar hotels and 
those of the villas of friends. There is an odd sense of 
indelicacy about the bold inspection of a friend's roof. 
There is nothing indecent about a roof but there is an 
impression of spying, of looking down the chimneys and 
of taking advantage of an exceptional position, for a roof 
is not the best part of a house and in the case of friends 
it somehow comes into the category of things that you 
ought not to see. 

The most precious object in La Turbie is the Monu- 
ment, although it is now in a state of woeful decay. It 
stands in a dismal waste where clothes are spread out 

216 




m 

H 



as 
Q 

W 
-J 



en 



Q 

z 



Q 
O 

M 

5 
as 




The Tower of Victory 

to dry and where fowls wander about scratching, as if 
searching for Roman remains. It is surrounded by houses 
which appear to have contracted the leprous complaint 
which has attacked the great trophy. As a monument 
of melancholy it is not to be surpassed. As a place of 
dreariness the spot where it is found can hardly be ex- 
ceeded in pathos. It needs only the solitary figure of 
Job, sitting on a broken column with his face buried in 
his hands, to complete the picture of its desolation. 

The monument was erected, or was at least completed, 
in the year B.C. 6. It was raised by the Roman senate 
to commemorate the victories of the Emperor Augustus 
over the tribes of southern Gaul and to record the final 
conquest of that tract of country. It was a colossal struc- 
ture of supreme magnificence that took the form of a 
lofty tower very richly ornamented. It stood upon a 
square base formed of massive blocks of stone which are 
still in place, for none but an uncommon power could 
ever move them. The tower itself was circular and en- 
cased in marble upon which, in letters of gold, was en- 
graved an inscription, " IMPERATORI ■ C^ESARI r 
DIVI FILIO AUGUSTO PONT MAX IMP 
XIV TRIB POT XVII S.P.Q.R." These words, 
which suggest a form of shorthand or a crude telegraphic 
code, were followed by an account of the Emperor's 
triumph and the names of the forty-five Alpine tribes 
that he had conquered. Of this imposing inscription 
nothing now remains. It is replaced by the feeble initials 
of sundry shopboys from neighbouring towns, cut with 
penknives in the presence of their admiring ladies. 

About this tower was a round colonnade and above 
it another circle of pillars with statues ; while on the 

217 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

summit was a colossal effigy of the victorious emperor, 
eighteen feet or more in height. The whole was a stupen- 
dous work worthy of the amazing people who built it. 
It is now a shapeless pile as devoid of art as a crag on 
a mountain top. But it is still impressive by its over- 
whelming height, by its massiveness, and its suggestion 
of determined strength. High up on one side are two 
columns recently put in place, which show how an arcade 
once circled around it; but, apart from this, the whole 
mass looks more rock-like and more supremely simple 
than any work of man. Everything that made it beauti- 
ful in substance and human in spirit is gone — the colon- 
nades, the statues, the capitals, the friezes and the carved 
trophies of arms. 1 

The destruction of this exquisite fabric commenced 
early and was pursued through successive centuries with 
peculiar pertinacity. As has been already said La Turbie, 
throughout its long career, was the subject of many on- 
slaughts. No matter what may have been the purpose 
of the attacking party or their nationality they did not 
leave the town until they had devoted some time to the 
annihilation of the tower of Augustus. To contribute 
something to the breaking up of this monument seems 
to have been an obligation, a rite imposed upon every 
invading force, a local custom that could not be ignored. 
The Lombards appear to have commenced the work with 
great spirit and heartiness but with limited means. Then 
the Saracens came and took bolder measures, but measures 
founded upon imperfect scientific knowledge, for they 
attempted to destroy this tower of victory with fire. The 

Guelphs and the Ghibellines, during their intermittent 

« 

1 A further account of the trophy is given in the chapter which follows. 

2l8 



The Tower of Victory 

occupation of La Turbie, built a fort with stones obtained 
from the edifice. It was a strong fort in the making of 
which much material was employed and the trophy 
became a watch tower. 

As the knowledge of destructive processes improved 
more powerful steps were taken to uproot the tower. It 
was undermined and attempts were made to blow it up. 
These efforts were attended with some results ; but the 
monument still stands. Finally, about the beginning of 
the eighteenth century a very determined attempt was. 
made by the French to clear this arrogant pile from off 
the face of the earth. The work of destruction was en- 
trusted to the Marechal de Villars and there is no doubt 
that he did his best ; but the monument still stands. 

Quite apart from these periodic assaults the monument 
was, from the earliest days, regarded as a quarry and was 
worked with regularity and persistence age after age. In 
the twelfth century by permission of the Lords of Eze the 
marble — or what remained of it — was stripped from the 
walls by the Genoese and was carried away to decorate 
their palaces and their shrines, to build cool courts, to 
form terraces in gardens, to furnish the pillars for a 
pergola or the basin for a well. The marble of the high 
altar in the old cathedral of Nice came from the Roman 
monument. The present town of La Turbie is built in 
great extent from the ruins of this tower of victory ; while 
all over the country pieces of stone, worked by the 
Romans in the year B.C. 6, will be found in villas, in 
cottage walls, in motor garages, and in goat sheds. And 
yet the monument still stands. This is the feature about 
it that inspires the greatest wonder, this feature of deter- 
mined immortality ; for it would seem that so long as 

219 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

the world endures the pillar of victory will crown the 
everlasting hill. 

It has been battered and worn by the wind, the hail 
and the rain of nearly two thousand years. It has been 
gnawed at by snow and bitten by frost. It has been 
slashed by lightning and shaken by earthquake. It has 
been shattered by hammers and picks, has been torn 
asunder by crowbars, cracked with fire and rent by gun- 
powder, but still it stands and still it will stand to the 
end of time. 

That this ruinous old tower should have become, in 
early days, a thing of myths and mysteries can be no 
matter of surprise. That its colonnade was haunted, that 
its black hollows were the abode of a god and that its 
statues spoke in the local tongue was the belief of genera- 
tions. That it was a place to fear and to be avoided 
at night was a maxim impressed upon every boy and 
girl as soon as they had ears to hear and feet that could 
flee. 

The most remarkable quality of the trophy was the 
intimate knowledge of a certain kind that it was reputed 
to possess. Owing to this attribute it became an oracle. 
One of the statues — that of a god — could speak and was 
prepared (under conditions) to reply to appropriate 
questions. It must not be supposed that the tower of 
the Emperor Augustus became a mere inquiry office. It 
specialised in knowledge and the deity who presided would 
deal only with matters that came within the province 
of this particular phase of wisdom. 

One might hazard the guess that the fullest informa- 
tion that the monument had acquired during its many 
years of life would relate to assault and battery, and, in 

220 



The Tower of Victory 

a less exhaustive degree, to battle, murder and sudden 
death. On all questions relating to violence as displayed 
by man it could claim to speak as an expert. It is curious, 
however, that on this subject the speaking statue was 
silent. It professed to have a knowledge of one thing 
and one thing only and that was not violence but human 
love. But even in this branch of learning it specialised 
for it dealt exclusively with but a phase of the subject — 
the constancy and sincerity of women. 

The broken colonnade was no doubt a favourite resort 
for lovers and a listening statue could learn much as to 
the value of vows and would gain, during a life of 
centuries, experience on the topic of women's fidelity. 
It was upon this occult, most difficult and complex sub- 
ject that the oracle had the courage to speak. 

It thus came to pass that doubting husbands were in 
the habit of repairing to La Turbie in order to ask per- 
sonal and searching questions about their wives. How 
the oracle was "worked" is not known. That it was 
susceptible to influences which still have a place in human 
affairs is very probable. Light is thrown upon the 
methods of the oracle by the writings of one Raymond 
Feraud, a troubadour, who in the thirteenth century 
composed a poem on this very subject. 1 The morality 
revealed by the writer — it may be said — belongs to that 
century, not to this. 

It appears from the troubadour's account that Count 
Aymes, a prince of Narbonne, was a jealous man and 
probably, as a husband, very tiresome. He had some 
doubts as to the fidelity of his wife Tiburge and one day 
alarmed this cheerful lady by announcing that he pro- 

1 " Mon Pays, etc.," by D. Durandy. 
221 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

posed to drag her to La Turbie and to ask the stone deity 
certain pertinent questions as to her recent behaviour. 
Tiburge was a lady of resource and before the inquiry 
at La Turbie took place she started for the Lerin Islands 
and sought an interview with no less a personage than 
St. Honorat. What exactly took place between the saint 
and the light-hearted lady, during the meeting, the 
troubadour does not say. Anyhow Tiburge made such 
confessions to St. Honorat as she thought fit, with the 
result that the saint absolved her, cheered her up, called 
her " chere fille " and assured her that all would be well. 
To make matters more certain St. Honorat gave her the 
lappet of his hood and told her to wear it on her head 
during the anxious inquiry at La Turbie. He assured 
her that with this piece of cloth on her pretty hair the 
' ' idole ' ' would not dare to make any offensive observa- 
tions. Furnished with this unfashionable head-dress the 
countess, cheerful to the extent of giggling, joined her 
morose husband and toiled up to La Turbie. 

The Count Aymes asked the ' ' idole ' ' a number of 
most unpleasant questions which might have been very 
trying to the lady had she not been comforted by the 
brown rag on her head. The answers of the oracle — 
awaited with anxiety by the husband and with a smile 
by the lady — were very reassuring. Indeed the " idole " 
gave the lady a kind of testimonial and a certificate of 
character that was, under the circumstances, almost too 
florid. He said she was a dame de grand merit e and 
treated the count's innuendoes as unworthy of a consort 
and as reprehensible when applied to a woman of blame- 
less life. He added that a lady whose head was covered 
by a vestment belonging to so sainted a man as St. 

222 



The Tower of Victory 

Honorat must be above reproach. His manner of deal- 
ing with this delicate affair suggests to the vulgar mind 
that there must have been some collusion between the 
recluse on the island and the " idole " in this dilapidated 
old tower. 

Anyhow the count and the countess returned home 
in the best of spirits and one may assume that on the 
way she said more than once " I told you so." When 
he asked " Why don't you throw that beastly bit of old 
cloth away? " she would reply " Oh ! I think I will keep 
it. I may want to use it again." 



223 



XXX 

LA TURBIE OF TO-DAY 

1A TURBIE is a little compact town of the Middle 
Ages. Its narrow streets are disposed as they have 
been for centuries. It is entered by five gates. 
It has no straggling suburbs. It is complete in its tiny 
way and captain of itself. It lies enveloped by its walls, 
a warm, living thing whose heart has beaten within these 
encircling arms for over 2,000 years. It is quiet, for the 
world has left it alone. It stands by the side of the Great 
Corniche Road, but those who pass by in an eddy of dust 
heed it not. One might walk through it many times, 
from gate to gate, without meeting a living creature. 

Yet at the foot of the hill on which La Turbie stands 
is Monte Carlo, the most modern of modern abodes of 
men. A town without walls, lying scattered in all 
directions like a great drop of bright paint that has fallen 
on a rock and spattered it. Here are the hubbub of 
Vanity Fair, the frou-frou of silks, the flash of bold 
pigments, the scent-tainted air. 

Let such as are tired of this Vanity Fair and of its 
make-believe palaces, climb up to the hill town. As they 
pass through the old gateway they enter into a world that 
was, into a town where the streets are silent and the 
houses homely and venerable. The blaze of clashing 

colours is forgotten, for all here is grey. The bold, 

224 







LA TURBIE : THE OLD BAKEHOUSE. 



La Turbie of To-day 

imperious purple of the sea is changed for the tender 
forget-me-not blue of a strip of sky above the roofs. 
The dazzle of the sun is beyond the gate, but within are 
shadows as comforting as " the shadow of a rock in a 
weary land." Such light as enters falls upon an old 
lichen-covered wall, upon the arch of a Gothic window 
and upon simple things on balconies — a garment hanging 
to dry, a bird-cage, a pot of lavender. To those who 
are surfeited with riot and unreality La Turbie is a cloister, 
a place of peace. 

Outside the town, on the east, is the Cours St. 
Bernard, so named after an ancient chapel to St. Bernard 
which stood here. The town is entered by the gate called 
the Roman Gate, for it was by this way that the Roman 
road passed into La Turbie. The gate, which dates from 
the Middle Ages, has a plain, pointed arch and over it 
the remains of a tower. The old road passed through 
the town from east to west along the line of the present 
Rue Droite and left it by the Nice Gate which has also 
a pointed arch and a tower and which belongs to the 
same period as the Portail Romain. There are some 
fine old houses, strangely mutilated, in the Rue Droite 
and one elegant window of three arches supported by 
dainty columns. This pertains to a house at the corner 
of the Rue du Four. 

The Rue du Four, or Bakehouse Street, enters the 
town from the Corniche Road by a modern gate passing 
under the houses. In this street is the ancient public 
bakehouse, a queer, little building, low and square, with 
a tiled roof and on the roof a very solid cross cut out of 
a block of stone. Within the building the ovens are still 
to be seen. M. Philippe Casimir, the learned mayor of 

p "225 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

La Turbie, in his very interesting monograph 1 states that 
in old days the inhabitants paid to the Lord of La Turbie 
un droit de jqurnage for the privilege of using the bake- 
house. The impost took the form of one loaf out of 
every eighty. This mediaeval jour became in time the 
property of the town, but its use has now been long 
abandoned. 

The Rue du Four leads to the Place Saint- Jean, the 
centre of the town. It is a very tiny place — little more 
than a courtyard — which derives its name from the chapel 
of St. Jean which stands here. The chapel has been 
recently rebuilt (1844) and is of no interest. In the place 
is a large and still imposing house which was the old 
Hotel de Ville. Passing beneath it is a vaulted passage 
of some solemnity which leads to the gate known as the 
Portail du Recinto. The arch at the entrance of this 
vaulted way has a curious history. It was composed of 
blocks of marble taken from the monument and from 
that frieze of the trophy which bore the inscription. The 
great bulk of the inscribed stones had been removed to 
the museum at St.-Germain-en-Laye, but it was found 
that the wording was incomplete. Some letters from 
the list of the conquered tribes were missing. An 
archaeologist chancing to visit La Turbie in 1867 noticed 
on the voussoirs of this arch the very letters that were 
wanting. 

The pieces of marble were therefore removed to 
complete the inscription in the museum and their place 
was taken by common stones. To compensate La Turbie 
for this loss the Emperor, Napoleon III, presented to the 
church of St. Michael a copy of Raphael's " St. Michael " 

1 " La Turbie et son TrophSe Romain," Nice, 1914. 
226 




-J 

< 

CD 

en 

w 

H 

O 
— 

a 



H 

o 

H 

cn 

z 

< 

o 

pel 

w 

a o 
3 Z 






La Turbie of To-day 

from the Louvre in Paris. This picture now hangs on the 
left wall of the church near to the entrance. 

The vaulted passage under the old Hotel de Ville leads 
to a square called the Place Mitto. This piazza is, I 
imagine, the smallest public square in existence, for it is 
no larger than the kitchen area of a London house. In 
it is the most beautiful gate of La Turbie. It has a 
pointed arch and above it a low tower with three 
machicolations. The gate is called the Portail du Recinto 
— a mixture of French and Italian — which signifies the 
gate in the enceinte or main wall. It opens directly upon 
the Roman monument. 

In order to appreciate the significance of this gate it 
is necessary to refer once more to the history of the great 
trophy. Some time in the thirteenth or fourteenth 
century the site of the monument was converted into a 
fort. The trophy itself was stripped of all its original 
features and was built up in the form of a round and 
lofty watch tower. It was ornamented at its summit by 
two rows of arcading. These are still to be seen and on 
the parapet will be observed three upright pieces of stone 
which are the remains of the crenellations or battlements 
with which the tower was surmounted. These details, 
which belong to the centuries named, are shown in ancient 
prints. The ruin, therefore, now existing is the ruin 
rather of the mediaeval tower than of the original Roman 
monument. The persistent attempts to destroy the tower 
of La Turbie were due, in the first place, to the fact that 
it represented oppression and an arrogant claim to victory, 
and, in later years, to the fact that it was part of a 
fortress. 

About the base of the great watch tower was a square 

227 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

and solid keep, of which no trace remains and, beyond 
that, a great semicircular wall with its back to the town. 
This wall shut in the stronghold on the north and was 
terminated at the cliff's edge by a pair of towers. Now 
the Portail du Recinto was the gateway that pierced this 
encircling wall or enceinte and through it, and through it 
alone, could access to the fort be attained. 

To the right of the gate is a narrow street, the Rue 
Capouanne. It is curved because it follows the line of 
the enceinte and is, indeed, a passage between the actual 
fortress wall on one side and houses on the other. This 
mighty thirteenth century wall is one of the most interest- 
ing relics in La Turbie. It has been cut into, here and 
there, to make stables, but it is still a great wall presenting 
many huge blocks of stone which show that it was con- 
structed from the fabric of the monument. The Rue 
Capouanne ends in a modest little gate with a pointed 
arch green with ferns. This gate, called La Portette, 
gave access to the old church which stood near the west 
corner of the present cemetery and, therefore, above the 
level of the existing church. La Portette is shown in the 
old prints of La Turbie. Beyond La Portette and a 
modern house which joins it the great enceinte or fortress 
wall is continued for a little way as a curved but isolated 
line of masonry. Between this isolated fragment and the 
main wall there is a wide gap. This was cut about 1704 
in order to obtain direct access to the monument 
for the purpose of the building of the church, which 
was; constructed out of stones derived from the 
monument. 

M. Casimir gives an interesting explanation of the 

curious name. Rue Capouanne. It was originally 

228 




1 






a fl 


8 .-• .. 


r\u 


v<* * 


, : .:-\'-- : 



■-*■•■>;. it ' i'l 



' v'V 



•**«■') 



v, _, .v» 







...... 




LA TURBIE : THE NICE GATE. 



La Turbie of To-day 

Gapeani and it is easy to understand how the G has 
changed to a C. In 1382 La Turbie obtained local 
independence, was allowed to manage its own urban affairs 
and to appoint a bayle, governor or mayor. The first 
bayle was one Jacques Gapeani and it is in his honour 
that the street was named. Humble as the lane may 
be it can at least claim an ancestry of nearly six hundred 
years. 

Between the Place St. Jean and the Portail du Recinto 
is a narrow and gloomy way called the Rue du Ghetto. 
The name serves to recall the fact that during the 
troublous times of the Middle Ages Jews sought refuge 
in this hill town and security in the shadow of its fortress. 
The street is of interest on another account. During the 
Terror the monks of the monastery of Laghet were in 
fear for the safety of their much revered image of the 
Madonna. So in the dead of night they carried it up 
to La Turbie and hid it in a house in the Rue du Ghetto. 
The house was occupied by a pious man named Denis 
Lazare. 1 It is the first house in the street on the left 
hand side and high up between the first and second floors 
is an empty niche by means of which the house can be 
identified. At the moment the house is unoccupied. It 
is very small. A narrow stone stair leads up to the living 
room which takes up the whole of the first story. It is 
a room that has probably been altered little since 1793. 
There are the ancient fireplace, the massive beams in the 
ceiling and, by the hearth, a curious trough or basin 
fashioned out of a block of stone. So cramped is the 
house that it is hard to imagine where the Madonna was 
hidden, unless in the stable which opens on the street 

1 " La Turbie," by Philippe Casimir, Nice, 1914. 
229 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

and constitutes the ground floor of the humble little 
dwelling. 

The church of La Turbie is very simple and modest, 
subdued in its decoration and in keeping with its place. 
It has a steeple whose summit is shaped like a bishop's 
mitre and is covered with brilliant tiles which are very 
glorious in the sun. An inscription in the nave shows 
that the building was commenced in 1764 and completed 
in 1777, that it was constructed out of material from the 
monument and was erected by the hands of the people 
themselves. 

There are in the town the remains of fine houses solidly 
built of stone but now turned into humble dwellings. 
One such house is conspicuous in the Rue de l'Eglise. 
The type of house that is most characteristic of La Turbie 
has the following features. It is narrow. Its ground 
floor is occupied by a deep recess in the shadow of a 
wide rounded arch upon which the front wall of the 
building is founded. Within the recess on one side is a 
door leading to a stable and on the other a stone stair 
which mounts up to the entry into the house. 

There is one street with a name that always excites 
curiosity — the Rue Incalat. M. Casimir states that the 
term ' ' incalat ' ' indicates a paved way that is steep and 
it is to be noted that the Rue Incalat is the only street 
in La Turbie that can make any claim to be steep. 



230 



XXXI 

THE CONVENT OF LAGHET 

FROM the old Roman town of La Turbie a road 
dips down into a lonely valley and is soon lost to 
view. It is an unfriendly highway that appears 
to turn its face from the world as if to hide among the 
ascetic hills. There are few signs of human life to make 
the road companionable, while a row of cypresses on either 
side seem to impose upon it a reverential silence. 

At the end of the valley a great monastic building 
appears, with the figure of the Virgin raised aloft on its 
summit. It is an unexpected thing to come upon in this 
solitude ; it is so immense, so aggressive looking, so 
modern, so like a great barrack. Its walls are of fawn- 
coloured plaster, its roof of rounded tiles of every gracious 
tint of brown. Its windows would appear to have been 
inserted as occasion required, without regard to any 
definite design. Some are in arched recesses ; many are 
no more than the simple square windows of a cottage, 
while a few are like the lattice of a prison cell. It has 
a fine bell tower, with a clock, surmounted by a dome 
on the crest of which is the figure of Our Lady of Laghet. 
The building stands on a projecting rock and is approached 
by a bridge over a puny torrent. 

Wedged uncomfortably in the gorge above the bridge 
is a dun hamlet that seems to be trying to efface itself. 

231 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

It is an apologetic little place, standing in apparent awe 
of the great monastery which it scarcely dares to approach. 
The huddled houses, hiding one behind the other, are like 
a cluster of shy children before a schoolmaster's door. 

Various bolder and immodest objects, however, have 
thrust themselves between the timid village and the 
monastery. These are certain self-confident restaurants, 
a stable of almost offensive size, together with many booths 
and stalls, all deserted it is true, but still very assertive 
and unseemly. In the little square before the convent 
door are a bazaar where postcards and souvenirs are sold, 
a cafe, and an old fountain in a niche of the wall. 
Looking down upon the water in the basin of stone is 
a graceful figure of the Virgin. The fountain, recently 
restored, is said to have been erected in 1706. Mr. Hare 1 
gives the following translation of an inscription it bears : — 

"Pilgrim, you find here two streams; one descends 
from heaven, the other from the top of the mountains. 
The first is a treasure which the Virgin distributes to the 
piety of the faithful, the second has been brought here 
by the people of Nice ; drink of both, if you thirst for 
both." 

No living creatures are in sight, except two children 
who are playing on the bridge. In answer to a question 
they state that the booths and other unclerical objects are 
for the pilgrims of whom they speak with pride. The 
pilgrims, it appears, do not come regularly. They do not 
come in ones and twos in the guise of weary men limping 
on staffs. They come on occasions and in thousands, 
arriving in char-a-bancs, in motors, in omnibuses, in gigs, 
in farm carts, on horses, on donkeys, on bicycles and on 

1 " The Rivieras," by Augustus J. Hare, London, 1897, p. 80. 

232 



•£» JjJ***'- 









The Convent of Laghet 

foot, a crowd of cheerful men and women dressed in their 
best. A photograph of one such pilgrimage day — ex- 
hibited as a postcard — shows the single highway of Laghet 
as packed with people as any part of the racecourse at 
Epsom, with people too somewhat of the type that is 
found at such a gathering. Incongruous as the crowd 
may be it is moved by a fine and estimable spirit much 
to be respected. People journey to Laghet from far and 
near to return thanks to Our Lady for preservation from 
accident, for recovery from disease, for escape from 
trouble ; while yet a greater number come to place them- 
selves under the protection of the revered image which 
has made this quiet glen so famous. 

It is said that the church of the monastery stands upon 
the site of a little ancient chapel ; that the new church 
was inaugurated in 1656 and that the barefooted Car- 
melites were established here in 1674. Miracles in the 
matter of recovery from sickness or of escape from dire 
mishap commenced in 1652, when the little old ruined 
chapel was still standing. From that moment the 
sanctuary in this remote and desolate valley was much 
sought after. Eminent personages made their way to 
Laghet and among those who came to offer homage were 
Charles Emmanuel II, Victor Amedee and his wife, Anne 
of Orleans. Since then the crowd of pilgrims has in- 
creased year by year so that on the great festa of Laghet, 
on Trinity Sunday, the little place is submerged by an 
overwhelming throng. 

The monastery is entered through a portal of three 
arches which leads at once into a cloister whose walls are 
covered by ex-voto pictures. These pictures are small, 
being, as a rule, from one to two feet square. They date 

233 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

from various periods ; one of the oldest being ascribed to 
the year 1793. The majority belong, however, to the 
nineteenth century. Not a few are so faded as to be 
scarcely discernible. Beneath each picture is a brief 
account of the incident portrayed, a large proportion of 
the descriptions being in Italian. Two or three out of 
the vast collection — which includes many hundreds — 
possess some artistic merit ; but the mass are crude 
productions as simple as the drawings of a child and as 
regardless of perspective and as lavish in colour as the 
signboard of a village inn, while a few show but a little 
advance upon the more earnest sketches in a prehistoric 
cave. 

They deal with accidents and misfortunes from which 
the subject of the picture has escaped through the inter- 
vention of the sweet-faced Madonna of Laghet. The 
impression left by the gallery is that the dwellers in this 
corner of Europe are peculiarly liable to fall from the 
roofs or windows of houses, to slip over precipices, to 
drop into wells, to catch on fire or to find themselves 
under the wheels of carriages and wagons. Indeed it is 
a matter for marvel that they have not become extinct. 
It is a gallery that might suitably deck the walls of a 
coroner's court, the corridors of a hospital or the offices 
of an accident insurance company. 

Here is depicted a man lying under a cart laden with 
immense blocks of stone. A wheel of the cart rests poised 
upon his leg which would normally be reduced to pulp. 
For his escape he has undoubted reasons to be grateful and 
for the recording of the fact no little justification. Here 
is a man under a train : the station clock shows with 
precision the exact moment of the accident, while, as a 

234 




w 
u 
z 
< 

PS 
H 

z 

w 

w 
a 

H 




O 



The Convent of Laghet 

writing on the wall, is the sinister and suggestive word 
"sortie." Here is a youth hurled from a bicycle over 
a bridge and in process of falling down a terrific height. 
In this, as, indeed, in all the pictures, the details of 
the victim's dress and the colour of his hair and even of 
his necktie are rendered with great care. In a picture 
of 1903, showing a girl being knocked down by a motor 
the details of the archaic machine of that period are so 
exactly portrayed as to be of historical interest. 

The number of people who are dropping from scaffolds 
and ladders is very great. Complex horse accidents are 
rendered with a precision which is usually lacking in the 
mere narrative of these confusing events. Thus a lady 
and gentleman are represented as lying beneath an over- 
turned carriage. A grotesque horse, of the type seen in 
pantomimes, with a vicious grin on its face, has kicked 
the driver from the box. This outraged man is standing 
on his head in the road, his body and legs being sustained, 
by some unknown force, in the vertical position. Here 
is a motor accident : the motor has plunged into a swamp. 
The three dislodged occupants are kneeling together, in 
the middle of the highway, praying; while the more 
practical chauffeur is holding his hands aloft and is 
apparently crying for help. 

There are many shipwrecks in which the waves, 
fashioned apparently of plaster of Paris, are very terrify- 
ing. Gun accidents are numerous and troubles arising 
from fireworks not uncommon. Tramcar accidents, 
including the collisions of the same, are frequent. There 
are incidents also of a simpler type. In one, for instance, 
a gentleman is represented as slipping — probably on a 
banana skin — on the Rampe at Monaco. He is falling 

235 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

heavily. Another shows a lady of eighty-three, nicely 
dressed and with a fan in her hand, walking indiscreetly 
at 7 p.m. on a plank projecting over a precipice. There 
is a mansion in the background from which a man — of 
the same size as the house — is running to the scene of 
this imprudent act. 

There are also in the collection misadventures of an 
unusual character. Thus on a mountain road huge rocks 
are falling, in some profusion, on an omnibus. In a 
painting dated 1863 a child, aged fifteen months, is being 
eaten by a pig. The pig seems to have dragged the 
infant out of a cradle by its ear in order to consume it 
with greater ease. 

Some accidents may be classified as vicarious. For 
example a man is shown beating a mule. He does this 
without inconvenience to himself ; but the resentful mule, 
who is evidently no discerner of persons, is kicking another 
(and probably quite innocent) man very cruelly in the 
stomach with its fore hoof. 

Then too there are complex happenings which must 
have involved a great strain upon the invention and 
resource of any artist who wished to be accurate. For 
instance here is a house being struck by lightning. The 
house, for the sake of clearness, is shown in section, like 
a doll's house with the front open. In an upper chamber 
are members of the family engaged in cooking. The 
lightning passes ostentatiously through the room, leaving 
the occupants unharmed ; but it escapes by the front door 
and there kills a donkey which is lying dead on the door- 
step. Then again the average artist if asked how he 
would proceed to paint a picture to illustrate " recovery 
from inflammation of the right jaw " might find himself 

236 





LAGHET: ONE OF THE CLOISTERS. 



The Convent of Laghet 

perplexed since the subject is so lacking in tangible 
incident. The ingenious limner of Laghet is, however, 
at no loss and proceeds to carry out the commission with 
a light heart and in the following fashion. We see a 
bedroom with a bed in it and a chair. There are pictures 
on the wall. There is a table on which are a candle, a 
cup and a species of pot. On a cane sofa sits a solitary 
gentleman dressed in a frock coat and light trousers. 
His face is tied up in a handkerchief. The right side of 
the face is swollen. He appears to be about to leap from 
the sofa, his eyes being directed to a vision of the 
Madonna in a cloud on the wall. The picture clearly 
suggests that the sufferer has been laid up in bed ; the 
candle hints at restless nights ; the cup and pot at medical 
treatment. The fact that the patient is clothed in a frock 
coat shows improvement, while his apparent intention to 
spring from the sofa conveys the idea that the final cure 
has been sudden. 

There are very many sick-room scenes, complete with 
puzzled doctors and weeping relations around the bedside. 
In certain of these illustrations individual and unpleasant 
symptoms are depicted with so conscientious a determina- 
tion and so complete a disregard for the feelings of the 
onlooker as fully to support the dictum that " Art is 
Truth.'' 

One picture may have puzzled the hanging committee 
of Laghet. It depicts a smiling man being released from 
prison. The occasion is one that no doubt evoked thank- 
fulness on the part of the captive, but the inference that 
his incarceration was an "accident" opens up a legal 
point of some delicacy. Curious presents have been 
bestowed upon Laghet. Among them is the gift of the 

237 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

Princess Maria Josephina Baptista. It consisted of a 
silver leg of the same size and weight as her own leg 
which was happily cured at the convent. 

In certain places on the walls of this strange Cloister 
of Calamity hang crutches and sticks, discarded surgical 
appliances, boots for deformed feet, spinal supports and 
splints. They speak for themselves. The little crutches 
and the little splints speak with especial eloquence ; while, 
as a most pathetic object amid the grosser implements 
of suffering, is a small steeled shoe which must have 
belonged to a very tiny pilgrim indeed. 

On the cross-piece of one crutch a swallow has built 
a nest. The crutch and the swallow may almost be taken 
as symbolic of Laghet — the crutch the emblem of the 
halting cripple, the swallow of the joyous heart winging 
its way through the blue of heaven. 



2J8 




XXXII 

THE CITY OF PETER PAN 

ETWEEN Monte Carlo and Mentone is the little 
town of Roquebrune. It stands high up on the 
flank of that range of hills which follows the road 
and which shuts out, like a wall, all sight of the world 
stretching away to the north. 

Certain conventional phrases are used in describing 
the site of a village or small town. When it lies at the 
bottom of a hill it " nestles " and when it approaches 
the top it "perches." Roquebrune is distinctly 
"perched" upon the hillside. Indeed it appears to 
cling to it as a house-martin clings to sloping eaves 
and to keep its hold with some difficulty. The town looks 
unsteady, as if it must inevitably slip downwards into 
the road. 

At some little distance behind Roquebrune is a great 
cliff from the foot of which spreads a long incline. It 
is on a precarious ledge on this slope that the place is 
lodged, like a pile of crockery on the brink of a shelf and 
that shelf tilted. 

An enticing feature about any town is the approach 
to it, the first close sight of its walls, the glimpse of the 
actual entrance that leads into the heart of it. Now the 
entrance to Roquebrune is strange, strange enough to 
satisfy the expectation of any who, seeing the place from 

239 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

afar, have wondered what it would be like near at hand. 
A steep path, paved with cobble stones, mounts up be- 
tween two old yellow walls and at the end of the path 
is the town. It is entered by a flight of stone steps which, 
passing into the shadow of a tunnelled way beneath high 
houses, opens suddenly into the sunlight of the chief 
street of Roquebrune. 

It is a cheerful little town, clean and trim. It is 
undoubtedly curious and as one penetrates further into 
its by-ways it becomes — as Alice in Wonderland would 
remark — " curiouser and curiouser." It is largely a town 
of stairs, of straight stairs and crooked stairs, of stairs 
that soar into dark holes and are seen no more, of stairs 
that climb up openly on the outside of houses, of stairs 
bleached white, of stairs green with weeds and of stairs 
that stand alone — for the place that they led to has gone. 
It would seem to be a precept in Roquebrune that if a 
dwelling can be entered by a range of steps it must be so 
approached in preference to any other way. 

The streets are streets by name only, for they are 
mere lanes and very narrow even for lanes. They appear 
to go where they like, so long as they go uphill. They 
all go uphill, straggling thither by any route that pleases 
them. The impression is soon gained that the people of 
Roquebrune are living on a curious staircase fashioned 
out of the mountain-side. So far as the outer world is 
concerned Roquebrune would be described as " upstairs." 
The houses seem to have been tumbled on to the giant 
steps as if they had been emptied out of a child's toy- 
box only that they have all fallen with the roofs upper- 
most. There results a confusing irregularity that would 
turn the brain of a town planner. 

240 




ROQUEBRUNE, FROM NEAR BON VOYAGE. 



The City of Peter Pan 

Roquebrune has been piled up rather than built. The 
front doorstep of one house may be just above the roof 
of the house below, with only a lane to separate them ; 
while two houses, standing side by side may find them- 
selves so strangely assorted that the kitchen and stables 
of the one will be in a line with the bedrooms of the 
other. 

The houses are old. They form a medley of all shapes 
and sizes, heights and widths. They conform to no 
pattern or type. They can hardly be said to have been 
designed. The majority are of stone. Some few are of 
plaster and these are inclined to be gay in colour, to be 
yellow or pink, to have little balconies and green shutters 
and garlands painted on the walls. 

The streets are delightful, because they are so mys- 
terious and have so many unexpected turns and twists, 
so many odd corners and so many quaint nooks. In 
places they dip under houses or enter into cool, vaulted 
ways, where there is an abiding twilight. There are in- 
tense contrasts of light and shade in the by-ways of 
Roquebrune, floods of brilliant sunshine on the cobble 
stones and the walls alternating with masses of black 
shadow, each separated from the other by lines as sharp 
as those that mark the divisions of a chess-board. There 
are suspicious-looking doors of battered and decaying 
wood, stone archways, cheery entries in the wall that 
open into homely sitting-rooms as well as trap-like holes 
that lead into mouldy vaults. 

One small street, the Rue Pie, appears to have lost 
all control over itself, for it dives insanely under another 
street — houses, road and all — and then rushes down hill 
in the dark to apparent destruction. There is one lane 

Q 241 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

that is especially picturesque. It is a secretive kind of 
way, bearing the romance-suggesting name of the Rue 
Mongollet. It is very steep, as it needs must be. It is 
dim, for it passes under buildings, like a heading in a 
mine. It winds about just as the alley in a story ought 
to wind and finally bursts out into the light in an un- 
expected place. It is to some extent cut through rock, 
so that in places it is hard to tell which is house and 
which is rock. 

There is a piazza in Roquebrune, a real public square, 
a place, with the name of the Place des Freres. It lies 
at the edge of the cliff where it is protected by a parapet 
from which stretches a superb view of the green slope 
to the road and, beyond the road, of Cap Martin and 
the sea. It is a peculiar square, for on two sides there 
are only bald precipices. In one corner are a cafe and 
a fountain, while on the third side is a school. The piazza 
is, no doubt, used for occasions of ceremony, for speech 
making and receptions by the mayor; but on all but 
high days and holidays it is a playground for a crowd 
of busy children. 

The church is placed near a point where the sea-path 
makes its entry into Roquebrune. It is comparatively 
modern and of no special interest. On the wall of a 
house near by is a stone on which is carved a monogram 
of Christ with a "torsade" or twisted border. This is 
said to be a relic of an ancient church which stood upon 
the site of the existing building. 

There is, however, a delightful and unexpected feature 
about the present church. A door opens suddenly from 
the sombre aisle into the sunshine of a wondrous garden 
— wondrous but very small. The garden skirts the rim 

242 



The City of Peter Pan 

of the rock upon which the church stands. It is a more 
fitting adjunct to the church than any pillared cloister 
or monastic court could be. It is a simple, affectionate 
little place and is always spoken of by those who come 
upon it as "the dear little garden." There are many 
roses in it, a palm tree or two and beds bright with iris 
and hyacinth, narcissus and candytuft and with just such 
contented flowers as are found about an old thatched 
cottage. There is a well in the garden and a shady bench 
with a far view over the Mediterranean. Old houses and 
the church make a background ; while many birds fill the 
place with their singing. In this retreat will often be 
found the cure of Roquebrune. He is as picturesque 
as his garden, as simple and as charming. 

On the crown of Roquebrune stands the old castle 
of the Lascaris. It still commands and dominates the 
town, as it has done for long centuries in the past. It 
is disposed of by Baedeker in the following words " adm. 
25c; fine view." It is a good example of a mediaeval 
fortress and is much less ruinous than are so many of 
its time. It is placed on the bare rock which forms the 
top of the town and is surrounded by great walls. It 
is a veritable strong place, with a fine square tower, tall, 
massive and imposing. It is covered on one side with 
ivy and has thus lost much of its ancient grimness, while 
about its feet cluster, in a curious medley, the red, grey 
and brown roofs of the faithful town. 

Within the keep are a great hall, many vaulted rooms 
and a vaulted stair which leads to the summit of the 
castle. Those with an active imagination will find among 
the ruins the guard-room, the justice chamber, the ladies' 
quarters and the dungeons, but the lines which indicate 

243 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

such places have become exceedingly faint. Certain 
trumpery " restorations " have been carried out in this 
lordly old ruin which would discredit even a suburban 
tea-garden. The only apology that could be offered for 
them is that they would not deceive a child of five. 

It is impossible to regard Roquebrune seriously or 
to think of it as an old frontier stronghold that has had 
a place in history. Roquebrune, as a town, belongs to 
the country of the story book. It is a town for boys 
and girls to play in. It is just the town they love to 
read about and dream about and to make the scene of 
the doings of their heroes and heroines and their other 
queer people. From a modern point of view this happy 
little town is quite ridiculous. It is full of funny places, 
of whimsical streets and of those odd houses that children 
draw on slates when one of them has made the rapturous 
suggestion — " let us draw a street." It has an odd well 
too — a real well with real water — but it is bewitched and 
haunted by real witches. At least the people about are 
so convinced they are real that they are afraid to come 
to the well for water. Now a well of this kind is never 
met with in an ordinary town. 

There are walled places in Roquebrune where oranges 

and lemons are growing side by side and where both 

lavender and rosemary are blooming. The garden of 

the church is a child's garden, for the paths are narrow 

and roundabout and the flowers are children's flowers 

such as are found on nursery tables, while the whole 

place bears that pleasant form of untidiness which is only 

to be found where children are the gardeners. There 

is in the town — as everybody knows — a Place des Freres 

and with little doubt there is also, somewhere on the 

244 



The City of Peter Pan 

rock, a Place des Soeurs which is prettier and which only 
a favoured few would know about or could find their 
way to. 

Nothing that happens in any story book would seem 
out of place in Roquebrune. Indeed one is surprised 
in wandering through its curious ways to find it occupied 
by ordinary people, men with bowler hats and women 
who are obviously not princesses. One expects to come 
upon blind pedlars, old women in scarlet capes and 
pointed hats, mendicants who are really of royal blood, 
hags — especially hags with sticks — ladies wrapped in 
cloaks which just fail to conceal their golden hair, servants 
carrying heavy boxes with great secrecy and mariners 
from excessively foreign parts. 

There is a steep, cobble-paved lane in Roquebrune 
up which Jack and Jill must assuredly have climbed when 
they went to fetch the pail of water which led to the 
regrettable accident. Indeed it is hardly possible for a 
child, burdened with a bucket, not to tumble down in 
Roquebrune. By the parapet in the Place des Freres 
there is a stone upon which Little Boy Blue must have 
stood when he blew his horn ; for no place could be con- 
ceived more appropriate for that exercise. There are 
walls too without number, walls both high and low, some 
bare, some green with ferns, which would satisfy the 
passion for sitting upon walls of a hundred Humpty 
Dumpties. 

The town itself is — I feel assured — the kind of town 
that Jack reached when he climbed to the top of the 
Beanstalk, for the entrance to Roquebrune is precisely 
the sort of entrance one would expect a beanstalk to 
lead to. In one kitchen full of brown shadows, in a side 

245 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

street near the Rue Pie, is an ancient cupboard in which, 
almost without question, Old Mother Hubbard kept that 
hypothetical bone which caused the poor dog such un- 
necessary distress of mind ; while in a wicker cage in the 
window of a child's bedroom was the Blue Bird, sing- 
ing as only that bird can sing. 

As there are still wolves in the woods about Roque- 
brune and as red hoods are still fashionable in the Place 
des Freres it is practically certain that Little Red Riding- 
Hood lived here since it is difficult to imagine a town 
that would have suited her better. As for Jack the Giant 
Killer it is beyond dispute that he came to Roquebrune, 
for the very castle he approached is still standing, the 
very gate is there from which he hurled defiance to the 
giant as well as the very stair he ascended. Moreover 
there is a room or hall in the castle — or at least the 
remains of it — which obviously no one but a giant could 
have occupied. 

As time goes on archaeologists will certainly prove, 
after due research, that Roquebrune is the City of Peter 
Pan. There is no town he would love so well; none so 
adapted to his particular tastes and habits, nor so con- 
venient for the display of those domestic virtues which 
Wendy possessed. No one should grow up in this queer 
city, just as no place in a nursery tale should grow old. 

Peter Pan is not adapted to the cold, drear climate 
of England. He stands, as a figure in bronze, in 
Kensington Gardens with perhaps snow on his curly head 
or with rain dripping from the edge of his scanty shirt. 
He should be always in the sun, within sight of a sea 
which is ever blue and among hills which are deep in 
green. He could stride down a street in Roquebrune 

246 



^ 




ROQUEBRUNE : THE EAST GATE. 




ROQUEBRUNE: THE PLACE DES FRERES. 



The City of Peter Pan 

clad — as the sculptor shows him — only in his shirt with- 
out exciting more than a pleasant nod, but in the Bays- 
water Road he would attract attention. He is out of 
place in a London park in a waste of tired grass dotted 
with iron chairs which are let out at a penny apiece. 
Those delightful little people and those inquisitive animals 
who are peeping out of the crevices in the bronze rock 
upon which he stands would flourish in this sunny hill 
town, for there are rocks in the very streets among which 
they could make their homes. 

Then again Captain Hook would enjoy Roquebrune. 
It is so full of really horrible places and there are so 
many half -hidden windows out of which he could scream 
to the terror of honest folk. The pirates too would be 
more comfortable in this irregular city, for it is near the 
sea and close to that kind of cave without which no pirate 
is ever quite at ease. Moreover the Serpentine affords 
but limited scope to those whose hearts are really devoted 
to the pursuit of piracy and buccaneering. 

So far I do not happen to have met with a pirate 
of Captain Hook's type within the walls of Roquebrune ; 
but, late one afternoon when the place was lonely I saw 
a bent man plodding up in the shadows of the Rue 
Mongollet. He was a sinewy creature with brown, hairy 
legs. I could not see his face because he bore on his 
shoulders a large and flabby burden, but I am convinced 
that he was Sindbad the Sailor, toiling up from the 
beach and carrying on his back the Old Man of the Sea. 



247 



XXXIII 

THE LEGEND OF ROQUEBRUNE 

THE position of Roquebrune high up on the hillside 
appears — as has already been stated — to be pre- 
carious. It seems as if the little city were sliding 
down towards the sea and would, indeed, make that 
descent if it were not for an inconsiderable ledge that 
stands in its way. It can scarcely be a matter of surprise, 
therefore, that there is a legend to the effect that 
Roquebrune once stood much higher up the hill, that 
the side of the mountain broke away, laying bare the 
cliff and carrying the town down with it to its present 
site, where the opportune ledge stayed its further 
movement. 

Like other legendary landslips this convulsion of 
nature is said to have taken place at night and to have 
been conducted with such delicacy and precision that the 
inhabitants were unaware of the " move." They were 
not even awakened from sleep : no stool was overturned : 
no door swung open : the mug of wine left overnight by 
the drowsy reveller stood unspilled on the table : no 
neurotic dog burst into barking, nor did a cock crow, 
as is the custom of that bird when untoward events are 
in progress. Next morning the early riser, strolling into 
the street with a yawn, found that his native town had 
made quite a journey downhill towards the sea and had 

248 



The Legend of Roquebrune 

merely left behind it a wide scar in the earth which would 
make a most convenient site for a garden. Unhappily 
landslips are no longer carried out with this considerate 
decorum, so the gratitude of Roquebrune should endure 
for ever. 

This is one legend ; but there is another which is a 
little more stirring and which has besides a certain 
botanical interest. At a period which would be more 
clearly defined as "once upon a time" the folk of 
Roquebrune were startled by a sudden horrible rumbling 
in the ground beneath their feet, followed by a fearful 
and sickly tremor which spread through the astonished 
town. 

Everybody, clad or unclad, young or old, rushed 
into the street screaming, "An earthquake!" It was 
an earthquake ; because every house in the place was 
trembling like a man with ague, but it was more than 
an earthquake for the awful fact became evident 
that Roquebrune was beginning to glide towards the 
sea. 

People tore down the streets to the open square, to 
the Place des Freres, which stands on the seaward edge 
of the town. The stampede was hideous, for the street 
was unsteady and uneven. The very road — the hard, 
cobbled road — was thrown into moving waves, such as pass 
along a shaken strip of carpet. To walk was impossible. 
Some fell headlong down the street ; others crawled down 
on all fours or slid down in the sitting position ; but the 
majority rolled down, either one by one or in clumps, all 
clinging together. 

The noise was fearful. It was a din made up of the 
cracking of splintered rock, the falling of chimneys, the 

249 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

rattle of windows and doors, the banging to and fro of 
loose furniture, the crashing of the church bells, mingled 
with the shouts of men, the prayers of women and the 
screams of children. A man thrown downstairs and 
clinging to the heaving floor could hear beneath him the 
grinding of the foundations of his house against the rock 
as the building slid on. 

The houses rocked from side to side like a labouring 
ship. As a street heeled over one way the crockery and 
pots and pans would pour out of the doors like water and 
rattle down the streets with the slithering knot of prostrate 
people. 

Clouds of dust filled the air, together with fumes 
of sulphur from the riven cliff. Worst of all was an 
avalanche of boulders which dropped upon the town like 
bombs in an air raid. 

The people who clung to the crumbling parapet of 
the Place des Freres saw most ; for they were in a position 
which would correspond to the front seat of a vehicle. 
They could feel and see the town (castle, church and 
all) skidding downhill like some awful machine, out of 
control and with every shrieking and howling brake 
jammed on. 

They could see the precipice ahead over which they 
must soon tumble. Probably they did not notice that 
at the very edge of the cliff, standing quite alone, was a 
little bush of broom covered with yellow flowers. 

The town slid on ; but when the foremost wall reached 
the bush the bush did not budge. It might have been a 
boss of brass. It stopped the town as a stone may stop 
a wagon. The avalanche of rocks ceased and, in a 
moment, all was peace. 

250 



The Legend of Roquebrune 

The inhabitants disentangled themselves, stood up, 
looked for their hats, dusted their clothes and walked back, 
with unwonted steadiness, to their respective homes, 
grumbling, no doubt, at the carelessness of the Town 
Council. 

They showed some lack of gratitude for I notice that 
a bush of broom has no place on the coat of arms of 
Roquebrune. 



2SI 



XXXIV 

SOME MEMORIES OF ROQUEBRUNE 

ROQUEBRUNE is very old. It can claim a lineage 
so ancient that the first stirrings of human life 
" among the rocks on which it stands would appear 
to the historian as a mere speck in the dark hollow of the 
unknown. Roquebrune has been a town since men left 
caves and forests and began to live in dwellings made by 
hands. It can boast that for long years it was — with 
Monaco and Eze — one of the three chief sea towns along 
this range of coast. Its history differs in detail only from 
the history of any old settlement within sight of the 
northern waters of the Mediterranean. 

The Pageant of Roquebrune unfolds itself to the 
imagination as a picturesque march of men with a broken 
hillside as a background and a stone stair as a processional 
way. Foremost in the column that moves across the stage 
would come the vague figure of the native searching for 
something to eat ; then the shrewd Phoenician would pass 
searching for something to barter and then the staid 
soldierly Roman seeking for whatever would advance the 
glory of his imperial city. They all in turn had lived in 
Roquebrune. 

As the Pageant progressed there would pass by th< 
hectoring Lombard, the swarthy Moor, a restless bant 
of robber barons and pirate chiefs, a medley of mediaeval 

252 




ROQUEBRUNE, SHOWING THE CASTLE. 



Some Memories of Roquebrune 

men-at-arms and a cluster of lords and ladies with their 
suites. They all in turn had lived in Roquebrune. 
Finally there would mount the stair the shopkeeper and 
the artisan of to-day, who would reach the foot of 
Roquebrune in a tramcar. 

This Pageant of Roquebrune would impress the mind 
with the great antiquity of man, with his ceaseless evolu- 
tion through the ages with an ever-repeated change in 
face, in speech, in bearing and in garb. Yet look ! 
Above the housetops of the present town a company of 
swifts is whirling with a shrill whistle like that of a sword 
swishing through the air. They, at least, have remained 
unchanged. 

They hovered over the town before the Romans 
came. They have seen the Saracens, the troopers of 
Savoy, the Turkish bandits, the soldiers of Napoleon. 
Age after age, it would seem, they have been the same, 
the same happy birds, the same circle of wings, the 
; same song in the air. 

On the rock too are bushes of rosemary — " Rosemary 
for remembrance." The little shrub with its blue flower 
has also seen no change. The caveman knew it when he 
first wandered over the hill with the curiosity of a child. 
The centurion picked a bunch of it to put in his helmet. 
The pirate of six hundred years ago slashed at it with his 
cutlass as he passed along and the maiden of to-day presses 
it shyly upon her parting lover. 

In the Pageant of Roquebrune man is, indeed, the 
new-comer, the upstart, the being of to-day, the creature 
that changes. The swifts, the rosemary and the hillside 
belong to old Roquebrune. 

The following are certain landmarks in the tale of the 

253 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

town. 1 It seems to have belonged at first to the Counts 
of Ventimiglia, about in the same way that a wallet picked 
up by the roadside would belong to the finder. In 477 
these Counts sold it to a Genoese family of the name of 
Vento. In 1189 the town is spoken of as Genoese and 
as being in the holding of the Lascaris. It was indeed 
for long a stronghold of this house. About 1353 
Carlo Grimaldi of Monaco purchased Roquebrune from 
Guglielmo Lascaris, Count of Ventimiglia, for 6,000 
golden florins. The union of Monaco, Roquebrune and 
Mentone thus accomplished lasted for 500 years with 
unimportant intervals during which the union was for 
a moment severed or reduced to a thread. From 
1524 to 1641 the little town was under the protection 
of Spain. 

In 1848 Roquebrune, supported by Mentone, rebelled 
against the Grimaldi, after suffering oppression at their 
hands for thirty-three years, and declared itself a free town 
or, rather, a little republic. It so remained until 1860 
when it was united with France at the time that Nice 
was ceded to that country. An indemnity of 4,000,000 
francs was paid to the Prince of Monaco in compensation 
for such of his dominions as changed hands in that year. 2 

Roquebrune, of course, did not escape the disorders 
which befell other towns in its vicinity. Its position 
rendered it weak, exposed it to danger and made it difficult 
to defend. It was sacked on occasion, notably by the 
Turks about 1543 after they had dealt with Eze in the 
manner already described (page 127). It met with its 

1 As to the name " Cabbe Roquebrune," Dr. Miiller says that cabU means 
a little cape (the Cap Martin). 

* Durandy, " Mon pays, etc., de la Riviera," 1918. Dr. Miiller, " Men- 
tone," 1910. Bosio, " La Province des Alpes Maritimes," 1902. 

254 



Some Memories of Roquebrune 

most serious sorrow in 1560 when it was assaulted, set 
on fire and gravely damaged. 

At this date the history of Roquebrune ended or at 
least changed from that of a fortified place to that of a 
somewhat humble hill town. So it sank, like Eze, into 
obscurity. The ruins that remain date from this period 
and it is upon the wreckage of that year that the present 
town is founded. The castle would appear to have been 
restored, for the last time, in 1528 when the work was 
directed by Augustin Grimaldi of Monaco and bishop of 
Grasse. 

By the manner in which Roquebrune bore the stress 
of years and faced the troubles of life the little town 
differed curiously from her two neighbours of Monaco and 
Eze. Monaco and Eze were distinctly masculine in 
character. They were men-towns. They were, by 
natural endowment, very strong. They boasted of their 
strength and took advantage of it. They fought every- 
body and every thing. They seemed to encourage assault 
and indeed to provoke it. If hit they hit back again. 
Their masculinity got them into frequent trouble. 
Moreover they loved the sea and were masters of it. 

Now Roquebrune was feminine. She was a woman- 
town. She was constitutionally weak. She was little 
able to defend herself. When hit she did not hit back 
again, because she was not strong enough. She was 
bullied and was powerless to resent it. She was afraid of 
the sea, as many women are, and cared not to venture 
on it. 

She showed her feminine disposition in more ways than 
one. Roquebrune had been under the harsh tyranny of 
Monaco for a number of years, but she endured her ill 

255 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

treatment in silence. She bent her back to the blow. 
JShe crouched on the ground, passive and apparently 
cowed. Women will endure oppression patiently and 
without murmuring for a very long time. But a moment 
comes when they revolt, and it is noteworthy that they 
revolt generally with success, for the issue depends not 
only upon a masterly patience, but upon the choice of the 
proper time to end it. A town of the type of Eze would 
have had neither the patience to wait nor the instinct to 
select the moment for an uprising. Eze, after a year 
or so of hardship, would have flown at the throat of 
Monaco and would probably have been annihilated in 
the venture. 

Roquebrune waited a great deal more than a year or 
so. She waited and endured for thirty-three years and 
when instinct told her that the right time had come she 
turned upon the enemy, but not with a battleaxe in her 
hand. She quietly placed herself under the protection 
of Italy and when she had secured that support she boldly 
declared herself a free city and a free city she remained 
until she was received into the open arms of France. 

An episode that happened in 1184 will, perhaps, still 
better illustrate the feminine character of Roquebrune. 
In that year the town was besieged by the Ventimiglians. 
The reason for the assault is not explained by the historian. 
It is probable that mere want of something to do led to 
this act of wickedness. One can imagine the Count of 
Ventimiglia bored to the verge of melancholia by idleness 
and can conceive him as becoming tiresome and unman- 
ageable. One morning, perhaps, a courtier would address 
his yawning lord with the remark, "What! nothing to 
do, sir ! Why not go and sack Roquebrune? " To which 

256 




ROQUEBRUNE: RUE DE LA FONTAINE. 
View of Castle. 



Some Memories of Roquebrune 

the count, quite cheered, would reply, " An excellent 
idea. Send for the captain." 

Anyhow, whatever the reason, the count and his men, 
all in good spirits, appeared before the walls of the town 
and prepared for an assault. Now the state of affairs 
was as follows. Roquebrune, owing to its position, could 
not withstand a siege. Its fall was inevitable and merely 
a question of time. The governor would, however, be 
compelled to defend the town to the very last. He would 
man the walls and barricade the gates and, calling his 
company together in the Place des Freres would remind 
them of their duty, would tell them, with uplifted sword, 
that Roquebrune must be defended so long as a wall 
remained ; that the enemy must not enter the town except 
over their dead bodies and that, in the defence of their 
homes, they must be prepared to die like heroes. 

Now things seemed rather different to the governor's 
wife. She was a shrewd and practical woman not given 
to heroics. She knew that Roquebrune could not with- 
stand a siege and must assuredly be taken. She probably 
heard the stirring address in the square and did not at all 
like her husband's talk about dying to a man and about 
people walking over dead bodies and especially over his 
body. She knew that the more determined the resistance 
the more terrible would be the revenge when the town 
was taken. She did not like people being killed, especially 
her nice people of Roquebrune. Besides, as she paced 
to and fro, a couple of children were tugging at her dress 
and asking her why she would not take them out on the 
hill-side to play as she did every morning. 

So when the night came she put a cloak over her head, 
made her way out of the town, found the enemy's camp 

R 257 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

and told the count how — by certain arrangements she had 
made — he could enter the town without the loss of a man. 

Before the day dawned the bewildered inhabitants, 
who had been up all night fussing and hiding away their 
things, found that the Ventimiglians were in occupation 
of the town; for, as the historian says, "the besiegers 
entered the town without striking a blow." 

Thus ended the siege of Roquebrune. It ended in a 
way that was probably satisfactory to both parties and, 
indeed, to everyone but the governor who had, without 
question, a great deal to say to his lady on the subject of 
minding her own business. 

As she patted the head of her smallest child and glanced 
at the breakfast table she, no doubt, replied that she had 
minded her own business. 



258 




o 

OS 

a 
a 
o 

« 3 

H ° 
^ CC 

iu 

O 

a 
u 

2 




a 

o 

H 

en 

W 



o 

as 

a 

E 
H 



X 



XXXV 

GALLOWS HILL 

f ™^HE hills that overshadow the coast road between 
Cap d'Ail and Roquebrune are perhaps as dili- 
gently traversed by the winter visitor as any along 
the Riviera, because in this area level roads are rare and 
those who would walk far afield must of necessity climb 
up hill. 

The hill-side is of interest on account of the number 
of pre-historic walled camps which are to be found on 
its slopes. These camps form a series of strongholds 
which extends from Cap d'Ail to Roquebrune. There 
are some seven of these forts within this range. The 
one furthest to the west is Le Castellar de la Brasca in 
the St. Laurent valley on the Nice side of Cap d'Ail. 
Then come L'Abeglio just above the Cap d'Ail church, 
the Bautucan on the site of the old signal station above 
the Mid Corniche, the Castellaretto over the Boulevard 
de l'Observatoire, Le Cros near the mule-path to La 
Turbie and lastly Mont des Mules and Le Ricard near 
Roquebrune. 

Of these the camp most easily viewed — but by no 
means the most easy to visit — is that of the Mont des 
Mules, on the way up to La Turbie. This is a bare hill 
of rough rocks upon the eastern eminence of which is a 
camp surrounded by a very massive wall built up of huge 

259 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

unchiselled stones. It is fitly called a " camp of the 
giants," for no weaklings ever handled such masses of 
rock as these. The Romans who first penetrated into 
the country must have viewed these military works 
with amazement, for competent writers affirm that 
they date from about 2,000 years before the birth 
of Christ. 

Along this hill-side also are traces of the old Roman 
road, fragments which have been but little disturbed 
and which, perhaps, are still paved with the very stones 
over which have marched the legions from the Imperial 
City. To the east of La Turbie and just below La 
Grande Corniche are two Roman milestones, side by 
side, in excellent preservation. There are two, because 
they have been placed in position by two different 
surveyors. 

They stand by the ancient way and show clearly 
enough the mileage — 603. The next milestone (604) 
stood on the Aurelian Way just outside La Turbie, at the 
point where the road is crossed by the railway, but only 
the base of it remains. Between it and the previous 
milestone is a Roman wayside fountain under a rounded 
arch. It is still used as a water supply by the cottagers 
and the conduit that leads to it can be traced for some 
distance up the hill. 

The first Roman milestone to the west of La Turbie 
(No. 605) is on the side of the Roman road as it turns 
down towards Laghet. 1 This milestone is the finest in 
the district and is remarkably well preserved. Those 
who comment on the closeness of these milliaires must 

1 The ancient road lies above and to the west of the modern road to the 
convent. 

260 



Gallows Hill 

remember that the Roman mile was 142 yards shorter 
than the English. 

Above the Mont des Mules is Mont Justicier. It is 
a hill so bleak and so desolate that it is little more than 
a wind-swept pile of stones. It has been used for 
centuries as a quarry and much of the material employed 
in the building of the Roman trophy at La Turbie came 
from its barren sides. Its dreariness is rendered more 
dismal by its history and by the memories that cloud its 
past. These memories do not recall a busy throng of 
quarrymen who roared out chanties as they worked at 
their cranes and whose chatter could be heard above the 
thud of the pick and the clink of the chisel. They recall 
the time when this dread mound was the Hill of Death 
and a terror in the land. 

On the summit of Mont Justicier is a tall, solitary 
column. It appears, at a distance, to be a shaft of 
marble ; but it is made up of small pieces of white stone 
cemented together. It is a large column nearly three 
feet in diameter and some fifteen feet in height. Near 
it is the base of a second column of identical proportions 
to the first. The distance between the two pillars is 
twelve feet and they stand on a platform which faces 
southwards across the sea. These columns were the posts 
of a gigantic gallows. Their summits were connected 
by a cross beam and from that beam at least six 
ropes could dangle. This is why the mound is named 
Mont Justicier, or, as it would be called in England, 
Gallows Hill. 

The Mount became a place of execution in the 
Middle Ages and towards the end of the seventeenth 
century there would never be a time when bodies could 

261 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

not be seen swinging from the beam of the great gallows, 
since it was here that the brigands known as the Barbets 
were hanged. 

The term f-f Barbet " has a somewhat curious history. 
It was originally a nickname given by the Catholics to 
the Protestant Vaudois and later to the Protestants of 
the Cevennes and elsewhere. The name had origin in 
the circumstance that the Vaudois called their ministers 
" barbes " or " uncles," in somewhat the same way that 
the Catholics call their priests "fathers." 

The term was later applied to Protestant heretics 
generally and notably to the Albigensians who held to 
the mountains of Piedmont and Dauphine. They refused 
baptism, the Mass, the adoration of the Cross, the traffic 
in indulgences. "What was originally a logical revolt 
of pure reason against dogmatic authority soon took 
unfortunately varying forms, and then reached un- 
pardonable extremes." 1 These men were outlawed, 
were hunted down and massacred and treated as rogues 
and vagabonds of a pernicious type. For their ill name 
they were themselves not a little to blame. They kept 
to the mountains from which great efforts were made 
to dislodge them about the end of the seventeenth 
century. 

The term Barbets was subsequently given to the in- 
habitants of the valleys of the Alps who lived by plunder 
and contraband and finally to any brigands or robbers 
who had their lairs among the mountains. " In the year 
1792," writes |losio, 2 "irregular bands were formed, 
under the name of Barbets, which were trained and com- 

1 " Old Provence," by T. A. Cook, Vol. 2, p. 169. 

2 " Les Alpes Maritimes," 1902. 

262 




GALLOWS HILL. 







MONT JUSTIGIER : THE TWO tTLLARS OF THE GALLOWS 



Gallows Hill 

manded by military officers devoted to Sardinia. These 
bands of men harassed the French army, pillaged the 
camps and held up convoys. When the House of Savoy 
lost its hold on the Continent the Barbets divided into 
smaller companies and gave themselves up to open 
brigandage. Their habitat was in the mountains of 
Levens, of L'Escarene, Eze and La Turbie. Near 
Levens the unfortunates who fell into their hands were 
hurled into the Vesubie from a rock 300 metres high 
which is still called Le Saut des Francais." 

At the foot of Mont Justicier, near to the gallows 
and by the side of the actual Roman road, is the little 
chapel of St. Roch. It is a very ancient chapel and its 
years weigh heavily upon it, for it has nearly come to 
the end of its days. It is built of rough stones beneath 
a coating of plaster and has a cove roof covered with 
red tiles. The base of the altar still stands, traces of 
frescoes can be seen on the walls and on one side of the 
altar is an ambry or small, square wall-press. It was in 
this sorrowful little chapel that criminals about to be 
executed made confession and received the last offices of 
the Church. 

A sadder place than this in which to die could hardly 
be realised. The land around is so harsh, the hill so 
heartless, the spot so lonely. And yet many troubled 
souls have here bid farewell to life and have started hence 
on their flight into the unknown. Before the eyes of 
the dying men would stretch the everlasting sea. On 
the West — where the day comes to an end — the world 
is shut out by the vast bastion of the Tete de Chien ; but 
on the East, as far as the eye can reach, all is open and 
welcoming and full of pity. It is to the East that the 

263 < 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

closing eyes would turn, to the East where the dawn 
would break and where would glow, in kindly tints of 
rose and gold, the promise of another day. 

There is one lonely tree on this Hill of Death — a 
shivering pine ; while, as if to show the kindliness of 
little things, some daisies and a bush of wild thyme have 
taken up their place at the foot of the gallows. 



264 




THE CHAPEL OF ST. ROGH. 



XXXVI 

MENTONE 

MENTONE is a popular and quite modern resort 
on the Riviera much frequented by the English 
on account of its admirable climate. Placed 
on the edge of the Italian frontier it is the last Medi- 
terranean town in France. It lies between the sea and 
a semicircle of green hills upon a wide flat which is 
traversed by four rough torrents. It is, on the whole, a 
pleasant looking place although it is not so brilliant in 
colour as the posters in railway stations would make it. 
It is seen at its best from a distance, for then its many 
dull streets, its prosaic boulevards and its tramlines are 
hidden by bright villas and luxuriant gardens, by ruddy 
roofs and comfortable trees. Standing up in its midst is 
the old town which gives to it a faint suggestion of some 
antiquity. 

This old town, together with the port, divides Mentone 
into two parts — the West and the East Bays. The 
inhabitants also are divided into two sections — the West- 
bayers and the Eastbayers, and these two can never agree 
as to which side of the town is the more agreeable. They 
have fought over this question ever since houses have 
appeared in the two disputed districts and they are fight- 
ing on the matter still. The Westbayer wonders that 
the residents on the East can find any delight in living, 

265 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

while the Eastbayer is surprised that his acquaintance in 
the other bay is still unnumbered with the dead. I had 
formed the opinion that the Western Bay was the more 
pleasant and the more healthy but Augustus Hare crushes 
me to the ground for he writes, " English doctors — 
seldom acquainted with the place — are apt to recommend 
the Western Bay as more bracing ; but it is exposed to 
mistral and dust, and its shabby suburbs have none of the 
beauty of the Eastern Bay." So I stand corrected, but 
hold to my opinion still. 

Hare is a little hard on Mentone by reason of its being 
so painfully modern. " Up to 1860," he says, "it was 
a picturesque fishing town, with a few scattered villas let 
to strangers in the neighbouring olive groves, and all its 
surroundings were most beautiful and attractive ; now 
much of its two lovely bays is filled with hideous and 
stuccoed villas in the worst taste. The curious old walls 
are destroyed, and pretentious paved promenades have 
taken the place of the beautiful walks under tamarisk 
groves by the sea-shore. Artistically, Mentone is vul- 
garised and ruined, but its dry, sunny climate is delicious, 
its flowers exquisite and its excursions — for good walkers 
— are inexhaustible and full of interest." 1 

There can be few who will not admit that the modern 
town of Mentone is commonplace and rather character- 
less, but, at the same time, it must be insisted that a large 
proportion of the Mentone villas are — from every point 
of view — charming and free from the charge of being 
vulgar. 

Some indeed, with their glorious gardens, are 
serenely beautiful. With one observation by Mr. Hare 

1 " The Rivieras," London, 1897, p. 82. 
266 




z 



H 

J 


w 




Mentone 

every visitor will agree — that in which he speaks of 
the country with which Mentone is surrounded. It is 
magnificent and so full of interest and variety that it can 
claim, I think, to have no parallel in any part of the 
French Riviera. 

Mentone is a quiet place that appears to take its 
pleasure demurely, if not sadly. It is marked too by a 
respectability which is commendable, but at the same 
time almost awe-inspiring. Perhaps its nearness to 
Monte Carlo makes this characteristic more prominent. 
If Monte Carlo be a town of scarlet silks, short skirts 
and high-heeled shoes Mentone is a town of alpaca and 
cotton gloves and of skirts so long that they almost hide 
the elastic-side boots. 

There is a class of English lady — elderly, dour and 
unattached — that is comprised under the not unkindly 
term of " aunt." They are propriety personified. They 
are spoken of as " worthy." Although not personally 
attractive they are eminent by reason of their intimate 
knowledge of the economics of life abroad. To them 
those human mysteries, the keeper of the pension, the 
petty trader and the laundress are as an open book. They 
fill the frivolous bachelor with reverential alarm, but 
their acquaintance with the rate of exchange, the price 
of butter and the cheap shop is supreme in its intricacy. 
These "aunts" are to be found in larger numbers in 
Mentone than in any other resort of the English in 
France. 

The old town of Mentone is small and circumscribed. 
It stands in the centre of the place as a low hillock or 
promontory. In relation to the rest of Mentone it is like 
the brown body of a butterfly whose gaudy wings are 

267 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

spread over the West Bay on the one side and the East 
Bay on the other. 

The history of Mentone is meagre and of little interest. 
Compared with neighbouring towns it is of no great 
antiquity. The Romans passed by the site on which it 
stands without a halt. The Lombards and the Saracens 
left the spot alone for it offered no attractions to the 
neediest robber. According to Dr. Muller, whose 
work on Mentone is above praise, there is no mention 
of the town in the old chronicles until the commence- 
ment of the thirteenth century. It was a small place 
but poorly fortified and therefore little able to protect 
itself. It became in consequence the victim of any 
tyrant in the country round and its experience of 
tyranny must have been long-enduring and acute. 

It seems to have belonged first to Ventimiglia and 
then to have been the property of the Vento family of 
Genoa. Later it came under the rule of the Counts of 
Provence and in 1346 was purchased by Carlo Grimaldi 
of Monaco for sixteen thousand gold florins. It re- 
mained a part of the principality of Monaco for some 
hundreds of years. It was but slightly disturbed by the 
wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, because 
it was so little worth fighting about. In 1848 the whole 
population of Mentone, under the leadership of the 
Chevalier Trenca, rose against the oppression of the 
Grimaldi and the town became, with Roquebrune, a 
republic. Finally it was sold by Monaco to France in 
1861 for the sum of four million francs and there its 
story ends. 

The best general view of Mentone is to be obtained 
from the pier. Between the East Bay and the West 

268 



Mentone 

stands the old town, a heap of drab houses and red 
roofs, piled up in the form of a mound on the summit 
of which are St. Michael's Church and the plume-like 
cypresses of the old cemetery. Behind this drab town 
are two green hills, round and low — St. Vincent and 
Les Chappes ; and beyond again — shutting out the 
world — are the ash-grey slopes of the Maritime Alps. 
To the west is the massif of Mont Agel and the crag of 
St. Agnes ; while to the east is the towering height of 
the Berceau. 

The old town is small, but it has the merit — rare in 
these parts — of being clean and free from "the evil 
smell " of which Mr. Hare has complained. It is 
Italian in character and, owing to its place on a hill, is 
made up of steep lanes and many stairs, of headlong 
passages and vaulted ways. The numerous arches that 
cross the streets are the outcome of an experience of 
earthquakes painfully acquired in years gone by. At 
the foot of the town is the Place du Cap out of which 
certain undecided old lanes ramble to the sea, with the 
rolling gait of unsteady mariners. Among these the 
Ruelle Giapetta and the Rue du Bastion are notable 
by their picturesqueness. 

The way up to the old town is by the steps of the 
Rue des Logettes. The first street encountered is the 
Rue de Brea. It is a mean street, but it is occupied 
by houses which have been, at one time, among the 
most pretentious in Mentone. At No. 3 Napoleon 
lodged during the Italian campaign. It is a large 
building of four stories with a fine doorway in white 
stone. It is now given up to poor tenants who hang 

their washing out of the windows. At No. 2, a private 

269 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

house in comfortable state, General Brea was born in 
1790. He was one of Napoleon's generals, was at 
Leipzig and Waterloo and was assassinated in Paris on 
June 24th, 1848. On the wall of a garden in the Rue 
Brea is a marble tablet to commemorate the visit of 
Pius VII in 1814. The Pope was returning to Rome 
after his long exile in France and it was from the 
terrace of this garden that he blessed the people crowd- 
ing in the street. While dealing with famous people it 
may be noted that in the Rue St. Michel (No. 19) is 
the house in which the Chevalier Carlo Trenca was born, 
the president of the short-lived Republic of Mentone. 

The most important and most interesting street of 
old Mentone is the Rue Longue. It runs athwart the 
east side of the hill, mounting very easily to the St. 
Julien Gate which is just below the old cemetery. The 
street is paved, is some twelve feet in width and is 
entered from the Logettes by a dim passage. The 
street is a little dark, because the houses on both sides 
of it are tall. This Rue Longue follows the route of 
the old Roman road. Until 1810 it was the only 
carriageable street between the East and the West Bays 
and the only coast road between Italy and Provence. 

It was the Park Lane of Mentone, the fashionable 
street in which were the palaces of the nobles and the 
houses of the rich. The humbler dweller in Mentone 
would hardly dare put foot in it, because it was so 
grand and so exclusive. Here " before the great 
Revolution, the ladies of Mentone used to sit out and 
work in the open air, just as the peasants do now, before 
the doors of the houses or (one is expected to say) 
palaces. A letter of the last century describes the 

270 



Mentone 

animated appearance which this gave to the place in 
those days, the gentlemen stopping to chat with each 
group as they passed . . . while the nights were en- 
livened by frequent serenades, which were given under 
the windows of pretty girls by their admirers." 1 

This picture is very difficult to realise for the Rue 
Longue is now a humble street that the fastidious would 
probably call a slum. There are one or two little shops 
in it, but the houses are, for the most part turned into 
tenements for a very densely packed population. The 
buildings are of stone covered unhappily with plaster; 
but they nearly all show traces of an exalted past. 
There are many fine entries of stone with either a 
pointed or a rounded arch and a few windows which 
recall better days. The typical house has an arched 
doorway from which ascends a stone stair whose summit 
is lost in darkness. It leads obviously to the door of the 
dwelling, the ground floor being devoted, in old days, 
to stables or offices. There is in the Rue Longue a 
shop of the mediseval type, such as has been described 
in the account of St. Paul du Var (page 101). Over 
the portal of one house is the date 1542 and over 
another that of 1543. The house No. 123 was the 
palace of the princes of Monaco. It bears the initials 
of Honorius II and the date 1650. Within is a fine 
stone stair with a vaulted ceiling. Among the more 
picturesque streets of the town may be mentioned the 
Rue du Vieux Chateau, the Rue de la Cote and the 
Rue Lampedouze. 

The Rue Longue ends at the main gate of the 
town — the Porte St. Julien. The gate itself has been 

1 " A Winter at Mentone." 
271 



Ihe Riviera of the Corniche Road 

modernised and is represented only by an archway of a 
quite unassuming type. Leading up from this portal 
to the old cemetery is a wall in which are traces of the 
enceinte of the old fortress. The stronghold, built (Dr. 
Mtiller states) between 1492 and 1505, occupied the 
summit of the hill on which the old cemetery now stands. 
Here can be seen portions of the castle wall which have 
become incorporated with the structure of this strangely 
placed burial ground. 

A flight of steps from the Rue Longue leads to St. 
Michael's Church. The original church was built in 
1619, but was almost entirely destroyed by the great 
earthquake of 1887, after which date the present church 
was constructed. It is an ambitious building in an 
indefinite " classic " style and presents no features of 
interest. The same may be said of the two other 
churches in the old town — those of the Penitents Blancs 
and of the Penitents Noirs. 

The gallant old fort that, in the seventeenth cen- 
tury, guarded Mentone on the side of the sea has been 
almost engulfed in the building of the new pier. It is 
now merely a grey, patched-up ruin, standing on the 
rocks by the water's edge and ignominiously held up 
behind by the officious pier. Its little barred windows 
are curious, while on its summit can still be seen some 
traces of its sentry towers. 



272 




.^•--.. 



MENTONE : RUE LONGUE. 



XXXVII 

THE FIRST VISITORS TO THE RIVIERA 

fn PS HERE is great fascination about a very ancient 
human dwelling-place. It stands out among the 
blank shadows of the past as a warm reality, a 
lingering spark still aglow among the ashes of things 
that once had been. There is about it the charm of a 
memory that is partly real and partly only dreamed 
about. Strange as the venerable place may be it comes 
quite naturally into the story of our common ancestry. 
It seems, in some indefinite way, to be a family posses- 
sion which we can regard with a personal interest and 
a legitimate curiosity. Amidst the changes and upheavals 
of everyday life there is about the old house a comfortable 
assurance of the continuity of human existence and of 
our individual claim upon those who have trod before us 
the great highway. 

Such an ancient abode of men is to be found at 
Mentone, at a spot called, in the local speech, the 
Baousse-Rousse. The English would term the place the 
Red Cliff. The Red Cliff is just beyond the tragical 
looking chasm, with its babyish stream, that marks the 
frontier of France. It stands, therefore, in Italy. It 
is a formidable cliff of great height, as erect as a wall, 
as defiant as a Titanic bastion. It rises sheer from 
the rugged beach and is as old as the sea. It has been 
s 273 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

scraped smooth by the wind of a million years, and may 
have been once scoured clean by the rain of Noah's 
deluge. It is bare of vegetation, except that, here and 
there, a pitying weed, lavish with yellow blossoms, 
clings tenderly to its scarred surface. About its foot are 
a few palms, a tall aloe, and some bushes with scarlet 
flowers. The colour of the cliff is a tawny grey, stained 
with red of the tint of ancient rust. There are long 
seams, too, on its surface which suggest the wrinkles 
of extreme old age. 

At the bottom of the precipice are certain caverns 
which were once the abodes of men. These caves are 
about nine in number; so that at one time the Red 
Cliff must have been quite a little town, for the caverns 
are capacious. The entrances to the caves are, for the 
most part, in the form of huge clefts in the rock from 
twenty feet to sixty feet high. They face towards the 
south, so that at noon a streak of light can penetrate 
into the vast stone hall and illumine its floor. When 
the sun has passed each portal becomes no more than 
a black gap in the precipice, very mysterious to look 
upon. 

The people who inhabited these caves belong to our 
earliest known ancestors. They stand at the root of the 
family tree. They represent the Adam and Eve of 
human history. Behind these people stretches the void 
of the unknown. It is in their likeness that the first 
human being steps out of the everlasting darkness into 
the light of the present world. 

They are known as the Palaeolithic folk — the cavern 
people, the men and women of the rough Stone Age. 
Their finest implements and most cunning weapons were 

274 




MENTONE : A DOORWAY IN THE RUE LONGUE. 



The First Visitors to the Riviera 

of unpolished flint. They had a knowledge of fire. 
These two possessions express the meagre progress they 
had made in the march of civilisation. 

There are certain skeletons of these cliff-folk in the 
Museum at Monaco. It is a memorable moment when 
one first has sight of men who were alive some 50,000 
years ago, and who, after interminable centuries, have 
just come again into the light of day and the company 
of their kind. It is at least — in the records of the 
human family — a curious meeting, a meeting rendered 
almost dramatic when one sees a dainty French lady in 
the mode of 1920 peering through a glass case into the 
face of an ancestor who walked the shores of France in 
an age so remote as to be almost mythical. 

There is an impression with some that these people 
of long ago were brutish creatures, ape-like and uncouth, 
being little more, in fact, than gorillas with a leaven 
of human craft. The Red Cliff skeletons, however, are 
not the skeletons of brutes. They show, on the contrary, 
the characteristic features of the bones of the man and 
woman of modern times. Such differences as exist are 
slight. There are the same straight back, the broad 
shoulders, the well-balanced head, the finely proportioned 
limbs, the delicate feet and hands. This skeleton of a 
Red Cliff man might have been that of a modern 
athlete, but with a muscular development that the 
modern would envy ; while this shapely woman, from 
the depths of a cave, might have graced, in life the 
enclosure at Ascot. There are some peculiarities in the 
shinbone, but I doubt if they would be noticeable even 
through a silk stocking. The skull is different, the face 
is flat, the nose broad, the forehead low, the jaws 

275 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

prominent. From the Ascot standpoint it must be 
allowed that the cave folk had ugly faces, coarse and 
unintellectual no doubt, but not the aspect of the 
gorilla. 

Among the skeletons from the colony at Mentone 
is one of especial interest. It is that of an old woman 
whose body was found in the deepest part of the cavern, 
and who, therefore, may be assumed to have belonged 
to the earliest or most ancient of the inhabitants. She 
is perfectly and, indeed, finely formed. Her age would 
be about seventy. It is to be noted incidentally that 
the bones show no evidences of gross rheumatic changes 
nor of other disabling trouble. That an old lady could 
live for seventy years in a damp cave, in a chilly climate, 
and escape such inconveniences is a sign of her time and 
of ours. 

It is not known at what age Eve died, but if she 
reached the term of three score years and ten these 
perfect and undisturbed bones may be imagined to be 
those of the Mother of Men. Eve is generally depicted 
by the sculptor as an elegant lady with a noble Greek 
face, in which is realised the extreme of refinement. 
It would probably be more exact if our first mother 
were shown in the form of a stalwart woman with the 
countenance of the Australian aborigines or of a 
Hottentot. 

The lady of Mentone has around her forearm two 
bracelets. They are made of sea shells and are just such 
as an ingenious child might make while sitting on the 
beach in an idle summer. One might suppose that 
the wearer was proud of them, and it may be that 
vanity in woman and love of dress — or, at least, of 

276 







A SIDE STREET IN MENTONE. 



The First Visitors to the Riviera 

jewellery — are born with her. If this be so, it is a pity 
that the wearer of the bracelets could not have known, 
in her lifetime, that her cherished ornaments would still 
be on her arm and would still be gazed upon by men 
50,000 years after she had ceased to be. 

It is a matter of interest and indeed of present envy 
to note how perfect are the teeth of these early folk, 
how strong they are, how solidly they are ground down. 
They must have gnawed the bones of the mammoth, of 
the cave bear, and of the woolly rhinoceros, for the 
remains of such animals are abundant in the dust heaps 
of these caverns. The standard of comfort in the com- 
mune of Red Cliff was low, for it has to be recognised 
that not only did whole families occupy one apartment, 
but in that apartment they cooked their food, deposited 
their refuse, and buried their dead. 

In looking at these very venerable ancestors it is the 
face that naturally attracts the greater attention. There 
is some expression in a skull, an expression of melancholy 
and surprise, with a suggestion of ferocity. Conspicuous, 
especially, is the look of wonder, the open mouth, the 
staring teeth, the solemn, hollow eye sockets. What 
images must have been formed within those sunken 
orbits ! Upon what a world must the vanished eyes 
once have gazed, upon what strange beasts, upon what 
fantastic glades and woods ! 

When the Red Cliff was inhabited the sea was 
probably at some distance. From the entry to the cave 
one would have looked, at one age, over a luxurious sub- 
tropical country, glaring with heat, and at another era 
over a land chilled with ice and deep in snow. During 
the lifetime of the old lady of the bracelets the climate 

277 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

is assumed to have been cold and damp, the climate, 
indeed, of England at its worst. There must be, there- 
fore, a bond of sympathy between the aged dame and 
the present day migrant, who has fled to the Riviera to 
escape a British winter. 

The dwelling places of these very early Riviera 
visitors are still practically unchanged. We enter by 
the same portal as they did; we tread the floor they 
trod, and, looking up, we see the very roof of rock that 
sheltered them and that they knew so well. 

The great cave — the Barma-Grande — has a fine 
entry, sixty-five feet in height and some thirteen feet 
in breadth. The cave is still deep, although its length 
has been curtailed by the callous quarry man, who has 
cut away much of the outer face of the cliff to find stone 
for villas, railway bridges, and motor garages. The cave 
narrows down to a smooth-sided cleft a few feet wide. 
This must have been a favourite spot, a cosy corner, an 
easy lounge after a day's hunting. 

The sun passes over the cavern wall as over the face 
of a dial, moving inch by inch just as it has moved, 
day by day, for unknown thousands of years. The 
creeping light serves to record on the rock the passing 
of time. The cave- wife, busy with flint scraper and 
unwieldy lumps of mammoth flesh, would note, perhaps 
with concern, that the sun had already reached a certain 
grey boss on the wall which told that the height of the 
day was near and yet that the daily meal was not ready. 
The sun still falls on the same spot on the wall at the 
same moment of time, for neither the sun nor the cave 
has changed. 

Just in front of the caves of the Baousse-Rousse, 

278 




z 
o 

H 
H 

s 

w 

D 

w 
z 

o 

H 

z 

w 



L 




The First Visitors to the Riviera 

between their entries and the sea, runs the old Roman 
road. Compared with the colony of Red Cliff it is a 
modern affair, for it is only a little more than two 
thousand years old. It ran from the Forum of Rome 
to Aries, a distance, it is said, of 797 miles. It carried 
the Roman legions into Gaul. It carried the merchant 
adventurers from the East, together with as miscellaneous 
a crowd of wanderers as any road in Europe bears 
witness of. Many a Roman centurion must have rested 
in these caves, many an Oriental pedlar laden with 
strange wares, many a man of arms seeking his fortune 
in the West, with perhaps a troubadour or two, a jester 
bound to other Courts, or the aimless man who followed 
the Wandering Jew. Pirates have used these caves for 
their tragic affairs, as well as wreckers and honest fisher- 
men. In more recent times smugglers found hereabout 
convenient depots from which to run their goods across 
the border; while frontier guards have been posted in 
these shadows with flintlocks to watch for the unwary 
buccaneer. Still nearer to the present day one can 
imagine that the dolorous lover has carved his lady's 
name upon the wall of the cave by means of a flint 
implement which his uneasy foot had unearthed from 
among the ancient dust of the deserted dwelling-place. 
Could the life and times of the occupants of the Red 
Cliff be written, from the days of the first inhabitant to 
the period of to-day, a history of Europe would be 
provided which could never be excelled for picturesque- 
ness nor for vivid detail. 

The environment of the old colony is at the moment 
singularly incongruous. The entrance to the principal 
cave is walled up and admission thereto can only be 

270 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

obtained by the payment of 2f. per person. A small 
museum, full of precious bones, stands on the Roman 
road ; a railway tunnel penetrates the very heart of the 
cliff, so that the rumble of express trains disturbs the 
peace of the dead who still lie on the very spot where 
their bodies were laid long centuries ago. There is a 
fashionable hotel on the summit of the cliff, and at its 
foot a popular restaurant. From the depths of the cave 
the sound of music can be heard when the restaurant is 
very exuberant and is offering especial cheer. 

If the old lady with the bracelets were now to stand 
at the door of her cave on a starry night she could see, 
beyond Mentone, a strange glow in the sky, the glow 
from the thousand lights of the gaming-rooms of Monte 
Carlo. 



280 




o 

w 
X 

H 


H 

z 

H 

W 

H 



Z 
O 

H 

< 

u 




XXXVIII 

CAS TILLON 

AMONG the mountains behind Mentone is a saddle 
of rock wedged in between two heights and 
named the Col de la Garde. If a Colossus sat 
astride of this saddle one leg would be in the Valley of 
the Carei, leading towards Mentone, and the other in 
the Merlanson Valley which descends to Sospel. The 
col or ridge of the saddle is 2,527 feet above the level of 
the sea. On a cone of rock in the centre of this ridge 
is the ghostly town of Castillon. The distance from 
Mentone to Castillon is four miles, if measured by the 
flight of a bird, and nine and a half miles if reckoned by 
the ingenious road. From Castillon to Sospel by road 
is four and a half miles, but the descent is not great for 
Sospel is still 1,148 feet above the Mediterranean. 

The Valley of the Carei is picturesque and of no 
little grandeur. It is a prodigious V-shaped gash in the 
earth, some half a mile wide where it opens to the 
heavens, some few feet wide at its deepest depth where 
the torrent cuts its way. The colouring of its walls is 
beautiful in its simplicity. Below the blue of the sky 
is a cinder-grey slope of bare cliff that dips into the faded 
green of the olive belt and the sprightlier green of the 
pines ; then comes a strip of claret-red tinged with 
yellow, which marks the terrace of the autumn vines. 

281 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

and at the very foot are the deep shadows by the banks 
of the stream. 

The Carei follows the valley all the way. It begins 
among the vast silence of the everlasting hills and ends 
by running under the tramlines and the bandstand at 
Mentone. The road mounts up the west bank of the 
valley by spasmodic turns and twists. These are so 
repeated and so abrupt as to render any who live where 
paths are straight dazed and despairing. 

As the col is approached Castillon stands up against 
the sky line like a piece of dead bone sticking out of the 
mound of a grave. Few habitations of man occupy a 
position quite so surprising as this silent and deserted 
village. It is the village of a nightmare, of a fairy story, 
of the country of the impossible. "The town," writes 
the author of " A Winter at Mentone, "is as unlike a 
town as possible ... so that we should scarcely believe 
it to be a town at all." It stands on the summit of 
a pinnacle of stone which is, in turn, balanced on the 
knife edge of a dizzy col. From this isolated crag a 
horrible ridge of rock trails down the valley towards 
Sospel like the backbone of some awful reptile. 

It is a very ancient place for it was occupied in the 
time of the Romans. People have lived in Castillon for 
over 2,000 years and yet on a certain day not long ago 
it was suddenly deserted and not a human being has 
ever returned to make a home in it since that dire 
occasion. 

On February 23rd, 1887, Castillon was shaken by an 
earthquake and reduced in great part to ruin. No one 
appears to have been killed in the crash, but such was 
the terror of the inhabitants that they fled down the cliff- 

282 



Gastillon 

side and never came back to the town again. It has 
remained ever since as empty as a skull. 

In the Middle Ages Castillon was maintained as a 
fortified place by the governor of Sospel. It guarded the 
pass that led to the town and stood in the way of Sospel's 
most restless enemy, the Count of Ventimiglia. During 
the wars of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines the fortress 
of Castillon suffered much. It was a woeful day when 
Charles of Anjou obtained possession of it in 1261 and 
a still more dismal day when he sold it to that detested 
ruffian, Pierre Balbo of Ventimiglia, since, in the eyes 
of Sospel, Castillon was the keeper of the pass, the angel 
with the flaming sword that stood in the way. For no 
vain reason did the ridge gain the name of the Col de 
la Garde. 

Castillon did not remain long in the hands of Venti- 
miglia. It shared in the vicissitudes of endless conflicts, 
was in due course taken by the Genoese and then retaken 
by the redoubtable seneschal of Provence. Castillon was 
ever a sturdy little place ; for even in its earliest days, 
when it was captured by the Saracens, the hardy natives 
turned upon the invaders, cast them out and threw them 
headlong down the hill. It was not always so very little, 
since there was a time when it could boast of no fewer 
than seventy-five houses and five churches. Where these 
buildings found a foothold it is hard to say. They must 
have clung to one another with linked arms, like a crowd 
of men caught by a rising tide on a steep and very 
meagre rock. 

The old Castillon is approached from the present 
village by a steep cart-road which winds round the rock, 
or by a still steeper mule-path which labours up with 

283 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

many zigzags. Both road and path are overgrown with 
grass. They lead to a flight of wide steps which ascends 
to the town. It forms quite a ceremonial entry. There 
is but a single street. It is a sorrowful street, because it 
is so forlorn and so still. It is as green with grass as 
a lane in a wood and around the doorsteps of the houses 
and in every court and alley nettles and brambles flourish 
with heartless luxuriance. 

Half way along the street is the church. It is small 
and plain with a roof of tiles and a bell gable that lacks 
a bell. Over the door is the date 1712. The church is 
locked ; but so far as can be judged from the outer walls 
it has escaped damage. The " pointed campanile," how- 
ever, which is described and figured in older accounts is 
now no longer to be seen. At the end of the street, on 
the point that looks towards Sospel, are the ruins of the 
castle. Only some vaults and some crumbling walls 
remain ; but a gateway of stone with a pointed arch still 
stands unmoved amidst the chaos of destruction. Many 
houses are little more than a shell of bricks, but the 
greater number seem to have suffered little. They are 
closed. The doors, the window frames and the sun 
shutters are grey, because in thirty-three years every 
trace of paint has vanished. Many of the windows are 
still glazed. 

To one house clings a precarious balcony of wood 
with half of its rail intact. A few of the dwellings 
are doorless and it is possible to mount stairs laden 
with debris, to enter rooms which seem to have 
been but recently left and to climb down into hollow 
chambers echoing with mystery and suspicion. One 
front door has a slit for letters — open as if awaiting the 

284 





€ 



, iiy 'isr- 



CASTILLON : THE MAIN STREET AND CHURCH DOOR. 



Castillon 

postman. It is a trivial feature and yet it seems the 
most pitiable mockery in the whole of this street of dead 
things. 

The desolation of the little town is unutterable. If 
it were a total ruin the human element would be lost ; 
but it is so little a ruin, so like a living village of to-day 
— with the ashes of the kitchen fire still on the hearth — 
that it remains even now a vivid embodiment of a place 
dumb with panic and the fear of death. 



285 



XXXIX 

SOSPEL 

OSFEL lies at the bottom of a vast basin-shaped 
valley by the banks of the ever-chattering Bevera 
river. The sides of the valley are lined from base 
to summit with olive trees. It is not a pretty valley, 
for the green of the olive, being sad and wan, suggests 
rather the shabby dreariness of old age. In this sombre 
hollow Sospel appears as a patch of chocolate-brown. 
The valley is so immense and the town so small that it 
is little more than a dark stain at the bottom of a huge 
bowl. Sospel has fallen far from its high estate. It 
was once domineering and haughty and now it has 
become so humble and so insignificant. It once had the 
splendour of a soft-petalled rose, but it has dwindled in 
these days to a mere pinch of dry and shrivelled leaves. 
In Roman times it was a town of importance. It was 
a military station fully garrisoned and strongly fortified. 
It represented the mailed fist of Rome thrust defiantly 
into the land of Gaul. Those who are learned in these 
matters state that the lines of the Roman ramparts can 
still be traced about the outskirts of Sospel, but they are 
no longer visible to the eyes of the vulgar. 

After the glory of Rome had passed away Sospel 
still remained a commanding city and, throughout the 
Middle Ages and for century after century, it held its 

286 




w 

'2 

Q 

s 

pa 

Q 
O 

EC 
H 



Sospel 

place as a most influential town in this domain of 
France. It became the seat of a bishop as early as 1337 
and Albert!, the historian of Sospel, 1 tells of its high 
clerics, of its consuls, of its judges and of its other 
exalted men. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries 
it was a city with many thousands of inhabitants. It 
was surrounded by high walls, had five gates and many 
strong towers. It could boast of no fewer than one 
hundred and sixty-two shops and two monti di pieta. It 
had a cathedral and as many as twenty churches and 
chapels, fifteen, squares, many convents and monasteries, 
an academy and a college for lawyers. 2 A great fair was 
held every year on St. Luke's Day in October in the 
Piazza di San Michele, for Sospel was a centre of 
commerce and of industry for miles around. 

The town has seen much trouble and has endured 
periods of stress and times of calamity. Indeed so sad 
have been some phases of its history that, although it can 
boast of years of flamboyant glory, it is probable that its 
happiest days are now, when it has become a village of 
no account. About the end of the eighth century Sospel 
was almost entirely destroyed by fire. In 1516 it was 
ravaged by the Gascons and reduced, for the time, to 
a smouldering waste. In the sixteenth century the 
town became prominent as a place of horror by reason 
of the wholesale burning of heretics in the Piazza di San 
Michele. 

Possibly the most terrible calamity that befell Sospel 
was through the visitations of the plague. The most 
disastrous of these visits was in the year 1688. The 

1 " Istoria della citta de Sospello," by S. Alberti, Torino, 1728. 
3 " Mentone," by Dr. George Muller, London, 1910. 

287 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

people died as if the very air were poisoned. The streets 
were deserted; the shops were closed. Those who knelt 
in the church to pray could hear above their cries to 
heaven the thud of the mattock and the spade in the 
graveyard near at hand. It seemed as if Sospel was to 
be left desolate and that in a few dire weeks the river 
would be babbling seawards through a lifeless town. 

The elders of the city met and resolved that all the 
inhabitants of the place, those whom the Terror as yet 
had spared, should make a pilgrimage to Laghet to 
confess their sins and implore the Madonna to intercede 
with heaven on their behalf. At sunrise one pleasant 
day in July the procession formed up outside the walls 
and started on its penitential march. It was a hard 
journey and very pitiable. The distance was great ; for 
even as the bird flies it is no less than ten miles from 
Sospel to Laghet. 

There was no road to follow, only a rough path that 
struggled over hills and vales, over rocks and stony 
slopes. The poor distracted company would climb first 
to Castillon, thence probably to Gorbio, then on to La 
Turbie and so to Laghet. It would be an arduous 
journey for a sturdy man, but for these panic-stricken 
folk it was as cruel a passage as the most relentless could 
devise. 

In front of the column would walk the priests clad 
in white and bearing a cross. Then would come the 
great officers of the city with the nobles of Sospel, tnen 
the soldiers and after them the people of the town. 
Along the length of the column would break forth, again 
and again, the cry, " In the name of God on to 
Laghet! " 

288 



Sospel 

There would be old and young in the crowd, boys 
clinging to their mothers' gowns, girls perched on their 
fathers' shoulders and pleased for a while with the 
unwonted ride. The buxom maid would give an arm to 
her grandfather, the young husband a hand to his falter- 
ing wife. There would be some on mules and some on 
donkeys and at the wavering end of the procession would 
stumble the stragglers who were failing with every step. 

Not a few would be smitten with death as they 
walked, would drop out of the throng and roll among 
the brambles by the way. None could linger behind to 
bear them company, for still the cry would ring forth 
along the line, " In the name of God on to Laghet ! " 

Think then of the town left behind ! Silent but for 
the heartless chatter of the stream, empty save for the 
very old, the very weak, the dying and the dead. 

Sospel, when viewed from a height, appears (as 
already stated) as a splash of chocolate-brown on the 
floor of a grey valley, chocolate-brown being the colour 
of its roofs. It is a small place of 3,500 inhabitants 
languidly busy in the construction of a railway which 
seems disinclined to develop and still more feebly 
concerned in a golf course which declines to " open." 

The town is divided into two parts by the Bevera 
river. The quarter on the north bank is poor and 
resigned to a damp and musty squalor; while the south 
side of the town contains all that Sospel can boast of in 
the matter of present prosperity and departed greatness. 
Two bridges — one old and one new — connect the towns. 
The old bridge is picturesque, being composed of two 
very ancient arches which have never come to an agree- 
ment as to what should be their common level. In the 

T 289 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

centre of the bridge is a little, old, surly tower which 
forms an arch over the road after the manner of a 
village Temple Bar. The tower has been converted, with 
marked unsuccess, into a dwelling house with a bow 
window and balcony on its less dejected front and with 
gaudy advertisements on its other sides. Since no one 
appears to have the courage to live in this impossible 
dwelling it is empty. As a tower to defend the ford it 
is a monument of incompetence and as a house on a 
bridge of the type of those on the Ponte Vecchio at 
Florence it is a sorry thing. It is indeed neither a tower 
nor a house. It is merely a failure. 

The north town is made up of old buildings and 
narrow lanes which are filled with gloom and with a 
smell so pressing that it can almost be felt with the 
hand. The main lane, and the most pungent, is called 
the Rue de la Republique. If it be intended by its 
title to flatter the Republic of France the compliment is 
doubtful. 

The fronts of the houses that look into the lane are 
of great antiquity, but the backs that look on to the river 
are unreasonably modern. This river front of Sospel is 
one of its most curious sights. The houses are of four 
stories and each floor of each house is provided with a 
balcony. Except that they all look fragile and unsafe 
and the work of a rash amateur builder, no two balconies 
are quite alike. One may pertain to a kitchen, another 
to a sitting-room and a third to a bedroom and each 
balcony will contain the paraphernalia proper to its 
particular apartment. The united display of utensils 
shows how complex and exacting human life has become 
since the days of the cave man. I never before realised 

290 




:- 

W 
U 

- 

3- 
W 

H 



Sospel 

that so many buckets are required to satisfy the needs 
of a modern community. 

Each balcony gives a demonstration of some phase 
of domestic life, conducted without any prudish pretence 
at concealment. Viewed as a whole they form a series 
of little stages upon which every episode of the home 
is being displayed in the open air. On a fourth floor 
balcony a woman will be cooking, while in the balcony 
below a young woman is "doing" her hair — a curious 
operation to watch since she tugs at her hair as if it 
belonged to a person she did not like. On a third 
balcony a woman may be stuffing a chair or mending a 
stocking ; while on yet another may be witnessed in detail 
the whole tiresome process of dressing a child. One 
balcony has been turned into a fowl-house and another 
is devoted to the cultivation of a vine. On all these 
little galleries washing in some stage is in progress for 
washing among these people is like a familiar air run- 
ning, with endless repetitions, through the music of a 
comedy of life. 

The main town of Sospel is full of all the interest 
and charm that surrounds a relic of the Middle Ages. 
It is made up of unmanageable little streets that will run 
where they like, of lanes so dim that they suggest the 
light of a dying lamp and of gracious houses whose beauty 
is soiled by grimy hands and marred by the patchwork 
of poverty, like a fine piece of tapestry that has been 
darned as uncouthly as a labourer's sock. There are black 
passages as well as brilliant little squares, unaccountable 
stairways and mysterious arcades. Some of the streets 
are so narrow as to be mere cracks in a block of 
houses, while two at least, the Rue Pellegrini and the 

291 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Rue du Chateau, are no more than moist, obscure 
gutters. 

Many of the houses, although they stand now in 
mean streets, have evidently been public buildings of 
importance or palaces of the great people of Sospel. 
These houses are built of stone, have noble entries and 
fine windows, some of which still parade pointed arches 
and delicate columns. There is an old mansion of this 
type in the Rue St. Pierre which is still magnificent in 
spite of the humiliating indignities to which it has been 
subjected. Less ambitious houses show traces of light- 
hearted decoration in the form of arcading or other 
fanciful work in stone. 

The centre of the town is the Place St. Michel, a 
small, irregular square with the church on one side and, 
elsewhere, a medley of houses built over arcades. This 
piazza is quite Italian in character, is rather dissolute- 
looking and bears many evidences of having come down 
in the world. 

The church, which is approached by a flight of wide 
steps, belongs to the seventeenth century, has been 
judiciously restored and has a facade of no little beauty. 
By its side is a very ancient campanile of dingy grey 
stone surmounted by a curious pyramidal steeple. It has 
stood in this square for hundreds of vivid years and if 
it could tell of all that it has seen it would recount a 
story tragic enough. Its bells have many times clanged 
forth the alarm. Its watchman has often screamed from 
the tower that armed men were swarming down the hill. 
It has seen the ladies of the town, in silks and satins, 
step daintily across the Place on their way to Mass 
through a crowd of cap-doffing citizens. It has heard 

292 







M" i 







A SQUARE IN SOSPEL. 



---' '- >>-_._;" J 





SOSPEL: THE RUINS OF THE CONVENT. 



Sospel 

the consul read out a proclamation to a sullen mob, 
while yells of dissent have belched forth from the dark 
arcades like a volley of musketry ; and more lamentable 
than all it has seen a sinister column of smoke rise out 
of the square from the blaze of crackling faggots upon 
which shrieking heretics, bound hand and foot, were 
thrown like bundles of fuel. 

Beyond the church, in an untidy garden, are the 
ruins of an old convent which still show the long colon- 
nade of the cloisters and the windows of the upper rooms. 
Near by is one of the old square towers of the town, a 
mere shell of masonry that the sun of centuries has 
bleached as white as a bone. Alongside the tower runs 
a section of the city wall, pierced by a stone gateway 
with a pointed arch. This mediaeval entry is very 
picturesque ; for it serves to show how Sospel looked to 
the approaching traveller when it was a fortified city 
girt about by a great wall with many gates and many 
towers. 



293 



XL 

SOSPEL AND THE WILD BOAR 

IT may be of some interest to state how the affairs 
of Sospel became involved with so curious a creature 
as a wild boar, and how the people of Sospel were 
led to have a kindly regard for this particular species of 
pig. In the year 1366 a respected citizen of Sospel 
named Guglielmo Viteola started off with his son to go 
to Mentone. On the way they were attacked by a gang 
of robbers and the lad was killed. The robbers spared 
Viteola because they considered that he would be of more 
value to them living than dead. 

So they dragged him to a cave, bound him hand and 
foot, and left him in a doleful heap on the wet ground. 
They explained, with sarcastic apologies, that they must 
leave him for a time as they had to proceed to Mentone 
on urgent business ; but cheered him by saying that 
they would look him up on their return and would then 
do dreadful things to him unless he made agreeable terms 
for his ransom. Failing a comfortable sum of money 
they explained that they would either leave him to starve 
or would cut him up in a leisurely way with knives of 
peculiar grossness that they showed him. With a cheer- 
ful "a rivederci " they departed. 

Being in grievous pains both of body and mind Viteola 
began to pray to his particular saint, St. Theobald of 

294 



i 






p 

Viifll 



III 



X X •«. •» :) 



. ■•"Wil 





A STREET IN SOSPEL. 










i ^ 




Sospel and the Wild Boar 

Mondovi. (Mondovi, it may be explained, is a town 
some fifty miles from Sospel on the way to Turin.) 
Viteola had hardly finished his prayer when something 
or somebody rushed into the cave and fell at his feet. 
The darkness of the place rendered the identity of the 
intruder difficult. From his knowledge of natural history 
and possibly from his sense of smell Viteola decided that 
this visitor was a wild boar. The boar seemed fatigued 
and anxious to be quiet. 

The animal's rest was, however, soon disturbed for 
in a few moments five armed men burst into the cave. 
The cavern was becoming crowded. Odd things are 
often found in caves, but these new arrivals seemed very 
surprised at the combination of an ancient man tied up 
like a parcel in company with a languid boar. They 
requested Viteola to explain the unusual position. He 
did. The aged man further informed them that he had 
prayed to St. Theobald for help, but hardly expected that 
the relief would take the copious form of five men and a 
boar. He, at the same time, begged to be released from 
his bonds. This was promptly done. Whereupon the 
more prominent of the visitors introduced himself as the 
Lord of Gorbio and added that he was out hunting, that 
he had wounded a wild boar and had followed the animal 
to the cave. 

The boar became extremely amiable. He may have 
been a little cool to the Lord of Gorbio, but towards 
the old man he made such demonstrations of affection 
as a weary boar is capable of making. 

The party then proceeded to Sospel. Their arrival 
caused some amazement, for even in 1366 it was unusual 
to see a reigning prince walking down the High Street 

295 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

followed by armed men and an esteemed citizen at whose 
heels a wild boar was limping like a faithful dog. The 
animal became a great pet, but it was probably a long 
time before Viteola's wife was accustomed to the sight 
of a wild boar stretched out in front of the sitting-room 
fire. 

When the robbers returned from Mentone and entered 
the cave with derisive cheers and coarse laughter they 
were surprised to find themselves seized by armed men 
from Gorbio and their valued citizen gone. These wicked 
men were, without any tedious inquiry, hanged from a 
tree which the chronicle states, with topographical 
precision, " stood by the pathway leading from Sospello 
to Mentone." 



296 



XLI 

TWO QUEER OLD TOWNS 

A LUXURIANT valley of pure delight mounts 
inland from the sea by Mentone. It is a happy, 
friendly-looking valley, richly cultivated, full of 
orange groves and vineyards, of comfortable gardens and 
of merry mills. The valley ends suddenly in a vast 
amphitheatre of bare heights which shuts out all the 
world beyond. As if by a stroke of magic vegetation 
ceases and the green becomes grey. In the centre of the 
semicircle and on a steep promontory that commands 
the valley stands Gorbio, like a monument at the end 
of an avenue. It is eight kilometres by road from Men- 
tone, for the way to it twists about like a wounded snake. 
It is difficult to determine what adjective should be 
applied to Gorbio. The guide book says that it is pic- 
turesque, but the " Concise Oxford Dictionary " defines 
"picturesque" as "fit to be the subject of a striking 
picture." Now there is nothing about Gorbio that is 
fit for a striking picture. It may be fit for pieces of a 
picture as they lie in a toy-box as parts of a puzzle town 
waiting to be put together. Then a visitor told me that 
Gorbio was "awfully quaint"; but there is little in 
Gorbio to excite awe and the dictionary says that 
"quaint" means that which is "piquant in virtue of 

297 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

unfamiliar, especially old fashioned, appearance." This 
town is happily of unfamiliar appearance and is also 
without pretence to any fashion old or new, but yet 
it is not piquant, except in its smell. 

It would rather be called a whimsical town, a medley, 
a revue of mediaeval towns made up of selected frag- 
ments, an ancient mongrel of a town of involved and 
bewildering parentage. It is like three people all talking 
at once and in different languages. Those who regard 
a town as a place of habitation made by man, a place 
with streets, ordered residences, a square, a church and 
public buildings would maintain that Gorbio is not a 
town. 

It begins well. It commences with an orthodox 
square containing a cafe on either side, an aged tree, a 
fountain, a postcard shop and a sleeping dog. All this 
is reassuring and in order. At one corner of the Place 
a few steps slope up to a gateway with a pointed arch. 
This also is quite a normal entry to a town. But once 
inside the gate everything is topsy-turvy and unexpected. 
You find yourself in a lane, but it is more like a passage 
through rocks than the high street of a town. The road 
at once dives under buildings and comes up in a narrow 
square on one side of which is an official-looking Maine, 
very modern, with walls of a fashionable yellow, green 
sun-shutters and a flag pole. Opposite to it are some 
deserted houses of great age which are in a state of 
advanced decomposition. 

You then come to a damp and dark tunnel. As there 
is a gleam of light at the end of it you enter and are at 
once seized by a smell — a smell of Augean stables. This 
is no " perfume wafted on the breeze " ; but a smell that 

298 



Two Queer Old Towns 

comes upon you like a shriek, grips you by the throat 
like a highwayman and throttles you. You rush forward 
to the open air and stumble among houses made up of 
loose rocks and superfluous doors propped up by outside 
stairs. 

To the right are some steps climbing up through 
another tunnel that may be a passage in a mine. The 
exploring spirit urges you to mount this dark ascent. You 
come out into a real street with real houses and even a 
shop, but the street is narrow and the way is entirely 
occupied by a live cow. The cow is standing patiently 
outside a house that has white steps and a knocker and 
seems to be waiting for an answer to a message. It has 
a pleasant and motherly face, but appears, as to its body, 
to be of unreasonable size. As it is impossible to pass 
the cow without pushing it into a house you return by 
the tunnel to the original route. This route now takes 
the form of a country lane lined with boulders on which 
grow ferns and other plants of interest and here incon- 
tinently appears a church — a fine and ancient edifice 
bearing the date 1683. Beyond the church you find 
yourself — not in a cemetery but — on the ramparts of a 
fortified town and finally by the side of a quite new 
building of great height, clean and formal, which, at first 
sight, may be a barrack or a soap factory, but there are 
neither soldiers nor (I think) soap in Gorbio. 

From this point the town becomes merely incoherent. 
It expresses itself in terms of delirium. There are streets 
that go up and down like the hump of a camel, streets 
that form parts of circles and streets that form parts of 
squares. A map of all the lanes, passages, stairs and 
tunnels of Gorbio would look like all the diagrams of 

299 



The Riviera of the Corniche Road 

Euclid mixed up together. The surface of the town 
reproduces the undulations of the waves of the sea. A 
man walking before you disappears and appears again 
as if he walked on the ocean. The path may now be 
on a level with the belfry of the church and now with the 
main door. Indeed the church goes up and down as 
if it were a pier seen from the deck of a rolling ship. 

It would seem as if, at one time, Gorbio had been 
in a plastic condition, like a town made of wax, and 
that it had then been ruffled by a hot and mighty wind 
and its streets and foundations thrown into ripples 
which have hardened into stone. It would also seem 
as if this convulsion had had the effect of mixing up 
the component parts of a mediaeval town with more 
modern structures. Thrown up on the summit of 
Gorbio is the square tower of the old castle; but it 
is so fused with stables and poor dwellings that, but 
for its exquisite window, it might be a hayloft over a 
cow-house. Mule-paths are mixed up with vaulted 
passages and narrow lanes with cellar stairs, a prison 
wall with a grilled window has become the wall of a 
cottage, bits of a feudal fortress have been melted up 
with hovels, a fine arch of stone leads to a donkey- 
shed, the portal of a chapter house to a mean kitchen, 
while the hall of a palazzo has become a pen for goats. 
Forever above this jumble of buildings there rises, like 
the steam from a witches' cauldron, the smell of a 
stable of so horrible a kind that not even a Hercules 
could cleanse it. 

Gorbio is a town of five hundred and fifty inhabitants, 
placed at a height of 1,425 feet above the sea. It is 
a very ancient place, for Dr. M tiller finds an account 

300 




A STREET IN ST. AGNES. 



Two Queer Old Towns 

of its castle as far back as the year 1002. The town 
has had its full share of misfortunes and horrors. It 
has been possessed, in turn, by the Counts of Ven- 
timiglia, by the Genoese, by the Grimaldi and by the 
great family of the Lascaris. Each change of tenancy 
meant a more or less liberal amount of bloodshed. 
At one time, namely in 1257, it was the property of 
the beautiful Beatrix of Provence, she who was 
platonically beloved by the troubadour of Eze (page 126). 
It may be sure that under the rule of this gentle 
lady Gorbio had at least some days of peace. It is 
no wonder that with all its troubles and with all the 
assaults it has received it has been battered out of 
shape and has become, in its old age, so very queer. 

A ragged mule path mounts up from Gorbio to 
St. Agnes. It is very steep and its length is measured 
not by metres but by minutes ; for if you ask how 
far it is to St. Agnes the answer is an hour to an 
hour and a half. St. Agnes as a town is not simply 
queer, it is frankly ridiculous. It is perched on the 
sharp point of a cone of precipitous rock and, from 
afar, looks like a brown beetle clinging to the top 
of a grey sugarloaf. How it came to be placed there 
no one can say, for a cautious eagle would hesitate 
to make its home at such a height. If it wanted to 
get away from the world it has succeeded, for it is 
nearly out of it. It can scarcely be said to be on the 
face of the earth, but rather on the tip of its nose. 

There are no means of reaching St. Agnes except 
by a mule-path or a balloon. Nothing on wheels has 
ever entered the precincts of the town. Thus it 
happens that the most curious "sights" at St. Agnes 

301 



The Riviera of the Gorniche Road 

are a piano and a great chandelier in one of the two 
excellent restaurants of the place. The interest inspired 
by these articles is not intrinsic, but is aroused by 
the wonder as to how they got there. The spectacle 
of a mule toiling up a path, as steep as a stair, with 
a piano on its back, followed by another mule bearing 
a wide-spreading chandelier and perhaps by a third 
laden with a wardrobe is a spectacle to marvel at. 

St. Agnes is a town of about five hundred 
inhabitants standing at an altitude of 2,200 feet. 
How the people live and why they live where they 
do is an economic and social problem of the pro- 
foundest character, for the country just around St. 
Agnes is as bare as a boulder. The town itself is of 
the colour of sackcloth and ashes, being drab and 
brown. In general disposition it is very like Gorbio, 
being as old, as deranged and as inconsequent. There 
are the same arcades, the same vaulted passages, the 
same erratic lanes. The church resembles the church 
at Gorbio. It bears the date 1744 but represents a 
building many centuries older. High up above the 
town, on a point of apparently inaccessible rock, are 
the ruins of the castle which was, at one time, a 
famous Saracen stronghold. It is represented now by 
a few broken and jagged walls which can hardly be 
distinguished from the crags out of which they spring. 
It is needless to say that the views from St. Agnes, 
both towards the mountains and towards the sea, 
are superb. 

The place is of great antiquity. Its early years are 
legendary, but from the twelfth century onwards it 
played a part — and no small part — in the affairs of 

302 



Two Queer Old Towns 

the world around it. The details of its life and times 
differ but slightly from those of Gorbio ; for the 
fortunes of the two queer towns were closely linked 
together. 

To explain how St. Agnes ever came to exist it is 
necessary to resort to legend and to the very hackneyed 
subject of the princess who lost her way. The name 
of this particular royal lady was Agnes. She was 
unwisely making a tour in this barren and impossible 
country, when the usual terrific storm appeared with 
the usual result — the lady lost her way. She must 
have lost it badly, for she found herself near the 
summit of the crag upon which St. Agnes now stands. 
This is equivalent to a person climbing up to the 
dome of St. Paul's in the hope of finding there a 
way that would lead to Fleet Street. The lady called 
upon her patron saint, St. Agnes, to guide her to 
shelter and was miraculously directed to a grotto near 
the spot where the town is now established. Hence 
the town and hence the name. 



3<>3 



INDEX 



" A Winter at Mentone," 271, 282 
Agel, Mont, 13, 112, 194, 204, 209, 269 
Alban, Mont, Fort on, 113 
Alberti, S., " Istoria della citta de 

Sospello," 287 
Alps, view of, from La Grande Cor- 

niche, 13 
Amadeus of Savoy, Eze sold to, 120 
Amilheta de Baus, 125 
"Annals," by John Stowe, 121 
Anne of Orleans pays homage to 

" Our Lady of Laghet," 233 
Antoin, Prince, builds fort at Monaco.l 69 
Arabs (see Saracens) 
" Architecture of Provence," by Mac- 
Gibbon, 100 
Aries, burial place of St. Trophime at, 51 
Roman road to, 36, 194, 208, 279 
Saracens at, 4 
Augustus Csesar at Monaco, 143, 144 
monument at La Turbie, erected 
by, 194, 206, 214 et seq., 227, 260 
" Aurelian Way " (see Via Aureliana) 
Avignon, sold by Queen Jeanne to the 
Pope, 87 
trial of Queen Jeanne at, 86 
Aymes, Count (Prince of Narbonne), 
story of, 221, 222 



B 



Balbo, Pierre, of Ventimiglia, pur- 
chase of Castillon by, 283 

Bailer, John, " Historical Particulars 
Relative to Southampton," 121 

Baousse-Rousse, the, Mentone, Banna- 
Grande Cave at, 278 
prehistoric caves at, 274 et seq. 

u 305 



Barbarossa, Hariadan (Redbeard), at- 
tack on Eze by, 127, 128, 130, 131, 
137 
siege of Nice and, 28, 30, 127 
Barbary pirates at Nice, 20 
" Barbet," history of term, 262 
Barcelona, sacked by Carlo I, 166 
Baring-Gould, S. " Riviera," 34 
" Bastard of Gorbio," and betrayal of 
Eze, 129 
attempt to betray La Turbie by, 

133 
capture and death of, 133 
Bautucan, pre-historic camp of, 259 
Beatrix of Provence, and Gorbio, 301 
Beatrix of Savoy, marriage and chil- 
dren of, 126 
story of, 80 et seq. 
Beaulieu, 112 
Bellaudiere, Bellaud de la, memorial 

tablet to, at Grasse, 75 
Bellegarde, de, and Bellanda Tower, 

Nice, 23 
Bellot, Jacques (of Grasse), carvings 

by, at Vence, 64 
Beranger (IV), Raymond, and trouba- 
dours of Eze, 123, 126 
story of, 80 et seq. 
war against Riviera towns by, 125 
Beranger-Feraud, " Contes Populaires 

des Provencaux," by, 80 
Bevera River, 289 

Blacas, troubadour of Eze, 122 et seq., 
141 
marriage of, 125 
Blacasette, troubadour of Eze, story 

of, 123 et seq. 
" Black Death " at Vence, 56 
Bonaparte, Princess Pauline, at Grasse, 
72, 73 



Index 



Bordighera, Via Aureliana at, 208 

as seen from La Turbie, 216 
Borghese, Prince, 73 
Boron, Mont, 31 
Bosio, Urbain, " La Province des Alpes 

Maritimes," 21, 22, 254 
" Le Vieux Monaco," 154, 155, 157, 

158, 262 
Bouche, Honore, " La Chorographie et 

l'Histoire de Provence," by, 51 
Brea, General, House of, at Mentone, 

270 
Brea, Ludovici, paintings by, at 

Cimiez, 39 
Briancon and Louise de Cabris, 88, 89 

quarrel with Mirabeau, 95 
Brignole, Marchesa di, at reception of 

her daughter at Monaco, 183 
Brignole, Maria Caterina, marriage 

with Honorius III of Monaco, 

181 et seq. 
marriage with Louis Joseph, Prince 

of Conde, 186 
Burgundians, invasion of Riviera by, 3 



Cabris, Castle of, 72 
Cabris, Louise de, at convent of Sis- 
teron, 95 

flight from France, 95 

House of, at Grasse, 71, 72 

story of, 87 et seq. 
Cabris, Marquis de, death of, 95 

House of, in Grasse, 71 
Cagnes, Castle of, 99 

description of, 97 et seq. 

inhabitants reproved for dancing by 
Bishop of Vence, 98 

Place Grimaldi, 98 
Ca'is, Gaspard de, and siege of Nice, 33 

attempt to betray La Turbie by, 133 

betrayal of Eze by, 128 et seq., 137 

capture and death of, 133 
Calais, siege of, 168 
Cannes, Corniche d'Or, near, 8 

„ Paganini's body taken to, 116 
Capitaine, the, La Grande Corniche at, 

13 
Carei", Valley of the, 281, 282 



Carlo I of Monaco (" Charles the Sea- 
man ") and Monaco, 143, 165 
at Gibraltar, 168 
at siege of Calais, 168 
attack on Southampton by, 121, 

122 
blockades Genoa, 166, 167 
death of, 169 

defeated by Duke of Genoa, 169 
defeats Catalans, 166 
defeats English Fleet, 167 
Don Jayme III and, 168 
fights Greeks and Venetians, 168 
fleet of, 165 et seq. 
marriage with Lucinetta Spinola, 

165 
peace with Genoa and, 169 
Pierre IV of Aragon and, 168 
purchase of Mentone by, 268 
sacks Barcelona, 166 
sells Roquebrune to Guglielmo Las- 

caris, 254 
wounded at Crecy, 168 
Carlone, Fresco by, of " Fall of 

Phaeton," at Cagnes, 100 
Carnival at Nice, 16, 17 
Carthaginians in Riviera, 1 
Casimir, Philippe M., " La Turbie et 
son Trophee Romain," 226, 228, 
229, 230 
Castellan de la Brasca, Le, 259 
Castellaretto, the, 259 
Castillon, captured by Charles of An- 
jou, 283 
captured by Genoese, 283 
captured by Saracens, 283 
church at, 284 
description of, 281 et seq. 
earthquake at, 134, 282 
Romans at, 282 

sold to Pierre Balbo of Ventimiglia, 
283 
Catalans, attack on Monaco by, 166 
" Cathedrals and Cloisters of the 
South of France," by E. W. Rose, 
50 
Cemenelum (Cimiez), Roman city of, 20, 

36, 209, 210 
Ceva, Boniface, and siege of Nice, 33 
Charlemagne and Abbey of St. Pons, 
40 



306 



Index 



Charles V, Emperor, meeting between 

Pope Paul III and Francois I and, 

28 
siege of Nice and, 29 et seq. 
Charles Emmanuel II, homage by, to 

Our Lady of Laghet, 233 
Charles of Anjou, Prince of Provence, 

builds Naval Arsenal at Nice, 20 
captures Castillon, 283 
Charles of Durazzo and Queen Jeanne, 

87 
" Charles the Seaman " (see Carlo I) 
Chateau d'lf, imprisonment of Mira- 

beau in, 91 
Chauve de Tourette, Mont, 13 
Chemin de la Corniche, Marseilles, 8 
" Choix des Poesies Orig. des Trouba- 
dours," Reynouard, 123 
" Chorographie du Comte de Nice," by 

Louis Durante, 215 
Cimiez, 12 
amphitheatre at, 36 
foundation of, by Romans, 20, 36, 

209 
Monastery of St. Francis of Assisi at, 

37 
Claudine, Princess, of Monaco, story 

of, 170 et seq. 
Col d'Eze, La Grande Corniche at, 

13 
Col de la Garde, 281, 283 
Col des Quatre Chemins, La Grande 

Corniche at, 12 
" Contes Populaires des Provencaux," 

Beranger-Feraud, 80 
Cook, T. A., " Old Provence," 180, 

262 
Corniche, derivation of, 8 
Corniche de Grasse, 8 
Corniche d'Or, near Cannes, 8 
" Corniche Road, The " (La Grande 

Corniche), 8 et seq. 
approach to Eze from, 136 
at La Turbie, 224 
Via Aureliana and, 209 
Corniche roads, 8 
Cours Saleya at Nice, 17, 20 
Crecy, Battle of, 168 
Cros, Le, pre-historic camp of, 259 
Cypieres, Ren6 de, and Huguenots at 

Vence, 55 



Davies, J. S., " History of Southamp- 
ton," 121 

D'Ail, Cap, pre-historic camps at, 259 

d'Alais, Comte, and capture of Monaco 
by French, 179 

d'Entrevannes, Blanche, story of, 44, 
45-48 

Dempster, Miss C. L. N., " The Mari- 
time Alps and their Seaboard," 
by, 52, 85 

Devote (see St. Devote) 

" Donna Maufaccia " (see Segurana) 

Doria, Bartolomeo, at Monaco, 172 
murder of Prince Lucien by, 175 

Doria, of Genoa, wounded at Crecy, 168 

Drap, 12 

Durandy, " Mon Pays, Villages, etc., 
de la Riviera," by, 123, 221, 254 

Durante, Louis, " Chorographie du 
Comte de Nice," 215 
" History of Nice," 34 



Edward III defeats French at Crecy, 
168 

war between Philip of Valois and, 166 
Emmanuel Philibert Tower, on Cap de 

St. Hospice, 108, 110, 111 
Emmanuel II, Duke of Savoy, and 

Chapel of St. Hospice, 107 
Eze, attack by French on, 127 

attack by Turks on, 127 

Bay of, 13 

betrayal of, 127 et seq. 

capture by Turks of, 130 

castle of, 119, 134, 140 ;, 

ceded to France, 120 

church of, 140 

earthquake at, 134 

La Grande Corniche at, 12, 13 

legend of the Stream of Blood and, 109 

Lombards at, 118, 119 

Lords of, 120 

Mairie of, 140 

" masculinity " of, 255 

Moors' Gate at, 137 

new town of, 134, 135 et seq. 



307 



Index 



Eze — continued. 
Phoenicians at, 118 
pirates of, attack Southampton, 121 
plague at, 120 

purchased by Carlo Grimaldi, 122 
Romans at, 118 
Rue du Brek, 140 
Saracens at, 4, 119 
sold to Amadeus of Savoy, 120 
story of, 118 et seq. 
troubadours of, 80, 123 et seq. 
Ughetta de Baus' life in, 125 
view of, from Cap de St. Hospice, 112 
view of, from La Turbie — Cap d'Ail 
Road, 135 



Falicon, 12 

Ferrando, Lord of Eze, 120 

Ferrat, Cap, 12, 104 

attack by Lombards on, 107 

St. Hospice at, 105 
Flower harvest at Grasse, 78 
Flowers, Battle of, 16, 17 
Fourche, Mont, La Grande Corniche 

and, 13 
Fragonard, birthplace of, at Grasse, 74 

statue to, at Grasse, 73 

" Washing the Disciples' Feet," 75 
Francois I, attack on Eze by, 127 

meeting between Pope Paul III and 
Emperor Charles V and, 28 

siege of Nice and, 29 et seq., 127 
Freron and Pauline Bonaparte, 72 



Gauls, occupation of Vence by, 49 

Gaumates, Ravin des, 147, 148 

Gaumates, Vallon des, 207 

Genoa, blockaded by Carlo I, 166, 167 
Monaco granted to, 145, 161 
Paganini's body taken to, 116 
peace with Carlo I and, 169 
stones from monument at La Turbie 

at, 219 
Via Aureliana at, 208 

Genoa, Duke of, capture of Monaco by, 
169 



Ghibellines, war between Guelphs and, 

5, 155, 161, 214, 218, 282 
Gibraltar, Carlo I attacks Moors at, 168 
Godeau, Bishop, death of, 52-3 
Gorbio, description of, 297, 298 

old castle of, 300 
Gorbio, Lord of (see " Bastard of 

Gorbio ") 
Gorges du Loup, Les, 13 
Goths, invasion of Riviera by, 3 
Gourdon, Marquis de, mansion of, at 

Grasse, 74 
Grammont, Charlotte de, House of, 
at Monaco, 158 

founds convent at Monaco, 158 
Grasse, history of, 67 et seq. 

Avenue Maximin Isnard, 71 

Bellaudiere memorial tablet at, 75 

Boulevard de Jeu de Ballon, 71, 72 

Boulevard Fragonard, 74 

Cabris House in, 71, 87 

church of, 74, 75 

Cours, the, 70, 71, 73 

flower harvest at, 77 

Fragonard statue at, 73 

Fragonard's birthplace, 74 

House of Marquis de Villeneuve- 
Bargemon at, 74 

Mirabeau at, 89, 90, 91 

old town of, 70 et seq. 

Passage Mirabeau, 71, 72 

Place aux Aires, 76, 84 

Place du Marche, 74 

Place Neuve, 70, 71 

Ponteves, Hotel de, 72, 73 

Porte de Cours, 71 

Porte de la Roque, 71 

Porte Neuve, 71 

Queen Jeanne's Palace at, 77 

reliquary of St. Honorat at, 75 

Revolutionary Tribunal at, 72 

Roberta's house at, 76 

Robespierre at, 73 

Rue de l'Evech£, 77 

Rue de 1'Oratoire, 76 

Rue des Cordeliers, 71 

Rue Droite, 76 

Rue du Cours, 71, 72, 76, 87 

Rue Tracastel, 74 

Rue Mougins-Roquefort, 77 

Rue Reve Vieille, 77 



308 



Index 



Grasse — continued. 
Rue Sans Peur, 77 
siege of, 67, 68, 69 
soap and scent factories at, 77 
Tour du Puy at, 75 
" Grasse and its Vicinity," by Walter 

J. Kaye, 65, 68, 69, 73, 75, 77 
" Great Schism of the West," 87 
Greeks at Monaco, 144 
Grignan, Comte de, and siege of Nice, 

30, 31 
Grimaldi, Augustin, restores Roque- 

brune Castle, 255 
Grimaldi, Rishop, and Huguenots at 

Vence, 54 
Grimaldi, Carlo (see Carlo I) 
Grimaldi, Francis, capture of Monaco 

by, 161 el seq. 
death of, 164 
Grimaldi, Gibellino, defeats the Sara- 
cens, 4 
Grimaldi, Lambert, marriage of, with 

Princess Claudine of Monaco, 

171-2 
Grimaldi, Nicolas, Lord of Antibes, 172 
Grimaldi, the, war between the Spinola 

and, for Monaco, 161, 164, 165 
and Gorbio, 300 
Grimaldo, Renoit (Oliva), and siege of 

Nice, 33 
Gros, Mont, La Grande Corniche and, 

12 
Guelphs, war between Ghibellines and, 

5, 155, 161, 214, 218, 282 



H 

Hare, Augustus J., " The Rivieras," 

by, 52, 146, 232, 266, 269 
Henry VI, Emperor, grants Monaco to 

Genoa, 145 
Hercules, Prince, of Monaco, and Spain, 

176 
murder of, 176 
" Histoire Litteraire de la France," 123 
" Historical Particulars Relative to 

Southampton," by John Rallar, 

121 
" History of Nice," by Durante, 34 
"History of Provence," Nostredame, 34 



" History of Southampton," J. S. 

Davies, 121 
Honore V, Prince of Monaco, and 

Gardens of St. Martin at Monaco, 

159 
Honorius I, of Monaco, and Spanish 

protection, 176 
Honorius II, palace of, at Mentone, 271 
Honorius III, wedding ceremony of, 

181 et seq. 
Horn, Mr. Galbraith, secretary of 

Monte Carlo Golf Club, 204 
Huguenots in Vence, 54-58 



I 

Innocent II, Pope, and Chapel of St. 

Hospice, 107 
" Istoria della citta de Sospello," by 

S. Alberti, 287 
Italy, coast of, view of, from La 

Grande Corniche, 13 



Jayme II, of Majorca, Carlo I and, 168 
Jean, Prince, of Monaco, murder of, 172 
Jeanne, Queen, death of, 87 

palace of, at Grasse, 77 

story of, 84-87 
Justicier, Mont, Chapel of St. Roch 
at, 263 

gallows at, 26,1 

quarry at, 261 

Via Aureliana at, 209 



K 

Kaye, Walter J., " Grasse and its 
Vicinity," by, 63, 68, 69, 73, 75, 77 

Knights Templars, " The Great Ship " 
of, 114 



L'Abegilo, prehistoric camp of, 259 
" La Chorographie et l'Histoire de 

Provence," by Honore Bouche, 51 
" La Province des Alpes Maritimes *' 

(Bosio), 21, 22, 254, 262 



309 



Index 



La Trinity- Victor, Roman station at 

12, 36, 209 
La Turbie, attempted betrayal of, 133 
Bakehouse Street, 225 
Belvedere at, 215 
Bordina path to, 207 
Cemetery road to, 207 
Church of, 230 
Corniche Road at, 13, 224 
Cours St. Bernard, 225 
description of, 224 et seq. 
history of, 214 et seq. 
hotel at, 206 
Hdtel de Ville of, 226 
La Grande Corniche at, 13, 224 
La Portette, 228 
Lazare's house at, 229 
Moneghetti, path to, 207 
Place Mitto, 227 
Place St. Jean, 226 
Portail de Nice, 209, 225 
Portail du Recinto, 226, 227, 228 
Portail Romain, 209, 225 
railway to, 204 
Roman gate at, 209, 225 
Roman monument at, 2, 144, 147, 

214 et seq., 227 
Roman town at, 208, 209, 213 
Rue Capouanne, 228 
Rue de Ghetto, 229 
Rue de 1'Eglise, 230 
Rue Droite, 225 
Rue du Four (Bakehouse Street), 

225 
Rue Incalnt, 230 
St. Michael's Church, 30 
Saracens at, 4 

secures local independence, 229 
seen from Monte Carlo, 206 
Via Aureliana at, 209 
view of, from Cap de St. Hospice, 

112 
" La Turbie et son Trophee Romain," 

by M. Philippe Casimir, 226, 228, 

229, 230 
Laghet, Convent of, 229, 231 et seq. 
fountain at, 232 
Madonna of, 229, 231 
miracles at, 233 

monastery at, 233 ; ex-voto pic- 
tures at, 234, 238 



Laghet — continued. 
pilgrimage to, from Sospel, 288 
Roman road at, 12, 36, 209, 260 
Lascaris, Guglielmo, purchases Roque- 

brune, 254 
Lascaris, the, and Gorbio, 301 
and Huguenots at Vence, 54 
and Roquebrune, 243 
castle of, at Roquebrune, 243 
Lascaris, Theodore, palace of, at Nice, 

25, 26 
Lazare, Denis, house of, at La Turbie, 

229 
Le Sueil, 13 
" Le Vieux Monaco," by Urbain Bosio, 

154, 155, 157, 158 
"Legendes et Contes de Provence," 

by Martrin-Donos, 43 
" Les Mirabeau," by L. de Lomenie, 88 
Lesdiguieres, leader of Huguenot army, 
57 
before Vence, 58 
" Life of Mirabeau," by S. G. Tallen- 

tyre, 88 
Ligurian coast, the, Grimaldi and, 4, 5 
Ligurians, defeat of, by Phocseans, 20 
defeat of Lombards by, at Cap 

Ferrat, 107 
in Riviera, 1, 2 
Lombards, and St. Hospice, 105-107 
at Eze, 118, 119 
at La Turbie, 214, 218 
at Roquebrune, 252 
attack on Cap Ferrat by, 107 
invasion of Riviera by, 3 
occupation of Vence by, 49 
Lomenie, L. de, " Les Mirabeau," 

88 
Louis XIII confers Duchy of Valen- 

tinois on Prince of Monaco, 180 
Louis XIV and Monaco, 153 
Louis Joseph, Prince of Cond6, mar- 
riage with Princess Maria Caterina, 
186 
Loveland, John D., " The Romance of 

Nice " (footnote), 26, 115 
Lucien, Prince, of Monaco, and Barto- 
lomeo Doria, 172 
defeats Genoese, 172 
murder of, by Doria, 175 
murder of his brother by, 172 



310 



Index 



M 

Macaron, Mont, 13 
MacGibbon, " Architecture of Pro- 
vence," 100 
Marignane, Mdlle., marriage with 

Mirabeau, 89 
Maritime Alps, 204, 269 
Marseilles, Chemin de la Corniche at, 8 

Duke of Savoy marches on, 57 
Martin, Cap, seen from Roquebrune, 
243 

view of, from La Grande Corniche, 13 
Martrin-Donos, " Legendes et Contes 

de Provence," 43 
Massena, General, monument to, at 

the Col des Quatre Chemins, 12 
Mentone, Baousse-Rousse, the, 273 

birthplace of General Brea at, 270 

Carlo Trenca's house at, 270 

description of, 265 et seq. 

East Bay, 265, 268, 269, 270 

fort at, 272 

Napoleon I at, 269 

old town of, 267, 269 

Palace of Princes of Monaco at, 
271 

Place du Cap, 269 

Pope Pius VII at, 270 

road to, from La Grande Corniche, 13 

Rue de la Cote, 271 

Rue des Logettes, 269 

Rue du Bastion, 269 

Rue du Brea, 267 

Rue du Vieux Chateau, 271 

Rue Lampedouze, 271 

Rue Longue, 209, 270, 271 

Rue St. Michel, 270 

Ruelle Giapetta, 269 

Saracens at, 4 

St. Julien Gate, 271 

St. Michael's Church, 269, 272 

Via Aureliana at, 209 

Villas at, 266 

West Bay, 265, 268, 269, 270 
" Mentone," by Dr. George Midler, 208, 

254, 268, 272, 287, 300 
Merlanson Valley, 281 
Merovingian carvings at Vence, 62 
Metivier, Henri, " Monaco et ses 
Princes," 149, 164, 171 



Millin, A. L., " Voyages dans les 

Departements , du Midi de la 

France," 51 
Mirabeau at Grasse, 89, 90, 91 

elopement of, with Madame de 

Monnier, 94, 95 
imprisonment in Chateau d'lf, 91 
marriage of, with Mdlle. Marignane, 

89 
Mirabeau, Marquis de, 88, 92 
Mirabeau, Rongelime (see Cabris, Louise 

de) 
Mistral, at Monaco, 156 
" Mon Pays, Villages, etc., de la 

Riviera," by Durandy, 123, 221, 

254 
Monaco, Avenue de la Porte Neuve, 

152 
Boulevard de la Condamine, 2, 146 
captured by Duke of Genoa, 169 
captured by Francis Grimaldi, 161 

et seq. 
captured by French, 178, 179 
Carlo I and, 166 
Catalan attack on, 166 
Chapel of St. Devote, 148, 149, 

162, 193 
Chapel of St. Mary at, 144 
Convent of the Visitation at, 158 
Etablissement des Bains de Mer, 146 
fateful Christmas Eve at, 161 et seq. 
Gardens of St. Martin at, 159 
Genoese attack on, 172 
Genoese fort at, 145 
Giardinetto of, 158 
Grammont, Charlotte de, house of, 

at, 158 
Great Casemate at, 159 
harbour of, 143 et seq. 
history of, 143 et seq. 
Honorius III, wedding ceremony of, 

at, 181 
Hotel du Gouvernement at, 158 
House of the Governor at, 155 
Lucien murder at, 170 et seq. 
Madonna of Mount Carmel at, 158 
Mairie at, 158 
Maison Commune, 157 
" masculinity of," 255 
Mint at, 158 
mistral at, 156 



3ii 



Index 



Monaco — continued. 

museums at, 157, 159, 275 

old church at, 157 

old fort at, 159, 161 

palace at, 152, 153, 154, 155 

Palace of, at Mentone, 271 

Place de la Visitation at, 158 

pre-historic skeletons in museum at, 
275 

Prince of, as man of science, 157 
indemnity from France to, 254 

Promenade Ste. Barbe, 156 

Rampe Major, at, 151, 152 

Ravin des Gaumates, 147, 148 

Rock of, 151 el seq. 

Rue des Briques, 156, 158 

Rue des Carmes, 158 

Rue du Milieu, 156 

St. Nicolas Church at, 157, 161 

seen from Monte Carlo, 189, 193 

Spanish dominion of, 176 et seq. 

Spinola and Grimaldi at, 161 el seq. 

view of, from La Grande Corniche,13 
" Monaco et ses Princes," by Henri 

Metivier, 149, 164, 171 
Monnier, Madame de, elopement with 

Mirabeau, of, 94, 95 
Monte Carlo, " atmosphere " of, 195 

Casino at, 156, 190, 191, 192, 194, 
196, 197 

description of, 191 el seq. 

diversions of, 195 et seq. 

Dog Show at, 200 

false impressions of, 187, 188 

gambling at, 196-198 

golf at, 201-205 

mountains round, 206 

origin of name of, 191 

pigeon shooting at, 198 

pre-historic camps round, 2 

rack-and-pinion railway from, 207 

Roman monument at, 194 

seen from La Turbie, 216, 224 

terrace of, 194 

theatre at, 199 

view of, from La Grande Corniche, 13 
Montfort, Count of (see Odinet, An- 
drea) 
Montmajour, Abbey of, St. Trophime's 

cell in, 52 
Moors (see Saracens) 



Mossen, Gianfret and Marcellino, cap- 
ture of Gaspard de Cai's by, 
133 

Mules, Mont des, pre-historic camp 
at, 259 

Miiller, Dr. George, " Mentone," 208, 
254, 268, 272, 287, 300 



N 

Napoleon I. and his sister, Princess 
Pauline, 73 

at Mentone, 269 

builds La Grande Corniche, 9 
Napoleon Illpresents copy of Raphael's 
" St. Michael " to La Turbie, 
226 
NicaBa, Phocsean city of, 20 
Nice, annexed by France, 21 

Barbary pirates and, 20 

Bellanda Tower at, 23 

Boulevard du Pont Vieux, 22 

captured by Counts of Provence, 20 

carnival at, 16, 17 

Castle Hill at, 12, 19, 21, 22, 23, 25, 
28, 32, 33, 35, 41 

Cathedral of St. Reparate, 27 

Charles of Anjou builds Naval 
Arsenal at, 20 

Cours Saleya, 17, 20 

Croix de Marbre, 28 

Dukes of Saxony and, 20 

French sieges of, 5, 20, 21, 29 el seq. 

High Town of, 21 

Jetee- Promenade, 15 

La Grande Corniche and, 9, 12 

Lascaris Palace in Rue Droite, 25, 26 

Low Town of, 21, 22 

Malavicina Tower at, 23 

Nicode de Menthon and defences of, 
21 

Old Town of, 19 et seq. 

Paganini's house at, 25, 115 

Palroliera Bastion at, 22, 31 

Pairoliera Gate, 22 

Place Garibaldi, 22 

Place Victor, 22 

Pont Vieux, 28 

Porte de la Marine, 22 

Porte St. Antoine, 22, 23 



312 



Index 



Nice — continued. 

Porte St. Eloi, 22 

Promenade des Anglais, 14 et seq. 

Quai St. Jean Baptiste, 23 

Rue Centrale, 27 

Rue de la Prefecture (No. 20), 25 

Rue de la Terrasse, 22 

Rue Droite, 23, 24, 25, 27 

Rue du Malonat, 25 

Rue Pa'froliere, 22 

Rue Sincaire, 22 

sacking of, by Saracens, 20 

Sainte Croix, Convent of, 28 

sieges of, 5, 20, 21, 28, 29, et seq., 127 

Sincaire Bastion at, 22 

stones from La Turbie in Cathedral 
at, 219 

Town Hall of, 27 
Nicode de Menthon, and defences of 

Nice, 21 
Nostredame's " History of Provence," 
34 



Odinet, Andrea (Count of Montfort), 

and siege of Nice, 31 
" Old Provence," by T. A. Cook, 180, 

262 
Oliva (see Grimaldo, Benoit) 



Pacanaglia, Mont, La Grande Corn- 

iche at, 13 
Paganini, Achillino, 116 
Paganini, body of, taken to Genoa and 
Cannes, 116 

burial of, at Parma, 116 

buried at Cap de St. Hospice, 116 

buried on Sainte Ferreol, 116 

death of, 114 

embalmment of, 117 

exhumation of, 117 

house of, at Nice, 25 

wanderings after death of, 25 (foot- 
note) 
Paillon River, 12, 21, 22, 39 
Paillon Valley, 12 

Palaeolithic remains at Mentone, 273 
Parma, burial of Paganini at, 116, 117 



Paul III, Pope, meeting between 
Francois I, Emperor Charles V, 28 
Peille, 12 

Philibert Emmanuel, fortifications 

erected by, at Villefranche and 

Mt. Alban, 113 

tower of, at Cap de St. Hospice, 108 

110, 111 

Philip of Valois, war between Edward 

III and, 166 
Phoenicians at Eze, 118 
at Monaco, 144 
at Roquebrune, 252 
in Riviera, 1 

occupation of Vence, by, 49 
Phocaeans in Riviera, 2 

occupation of Vence by, 49 
reputed foundation of Nice by, 19, 20 
Pierre IV of Aragon, and Carlo I, 168 
Pisa, Via Aureliana at, 208 
Pisani, Bishop, last Bishop of Vence, 53 
Pius VII, Pope, at Mentone, 270 
Pointe de Cabuel, 13 
Pointe de la Vieille, 13 
Ponteves, Hotel de, at Grasse, 72, 73 
" Precis de l'Histoire de Provence," 

Terrin, 68 
Pre-historic men, remains of, at Monte 

Carlo, 194 
Provence and Mentone, 268 

conflicts of, with rulers of Northern 

Italy, 5 
Counts of, capture of Nice by, 20 
La Turbie and, 215 
Provence, Saracens in, 4 



Redbeard (see Barbarossa) 
Red Cliff, the (see Baousse-Rousse) 
Rene, King, death of, 61 
Reynouard, " Choix des Poesies orig. 

des Troubadours," 123 
Ricard, Le, pre-historic camp at, 259 
Ricotti, " Storia della Monarchia Pie- 

montese," 34 
" Riviera," by S. Baring-Gould, 34 
Riviera, early history of, 1 et seq. 
Roberti, Doria de, house of, at Grasse, 

76 
Robespierre at Grasse, 73 



313 



Index 



Rochers Rouges, Via Aureliana at, 209 
Rocomare, M., account by, of siege of 

Grasse, 68-9 
Romano-Byzantine carvings at Vence, 

62 
Romans at Castillon, 282 

at Eze, 118 

at Monaco, 143, 144 

at Roquebrune, 252 

at Sospel, 286 

foundation of Cimiez by, 20 

foundation of Vence by, 49 

in Riviera, 2 

milestones of, 260 

remains of, at Grasse, 75 
Roquebrune, " Cabbe Roquebrune," 
meaning of, 254 

Castle of the Lascaris at, 243 

church at, 242 

description of, 239 et seq. 

"femininity" of, 255 

history of, 252 et seq. 

legend of, 248 et seq. 

Place des FrSres at, 242, 244, 245, 
249, 250, 257 

Rue Mongollet, 242 

Rue Pie, 241, 246 

view of, from La Grande Corniche, 13 
Rose, E. W., " Cathedrals and Clois- 
ters of the South of France," 50 
Rostagno, Lord of Eze, 120 



St. Agnes, Church of, 302 

description of town of, 301, 303 

legend of, 303 

Saracens at, 4 
St. Agnes, hill of, 269 
St. Andre, 12 

St. Auspicius (see St. Hospice) 
Sainte Barbe, Chapel of, at Monaco, 156 
St. Bernard Chapel of, at La Turbie, 

225 
St. Clare, bust of, at St. Paul du Var, 

103 
St. Devote, Chapel of, at Monaco, 148 
149, 162, 193 

legend of, 148, 149 
St. Eusebius, first Bishop of Vence 62 



Sainte Ferreol, Island of, burial of 

Paganini on, 116 
St. George, relics of, at St. Paul du 

Var, 103 
St. Honorat, reliquary of, at Grasse, 75 

story of Tiburge and, 222, 223 
St. Hospice, as miracle-worker, 106 
as prophet, 105 
death of, 107 
landing of, on Cap de St. Hospice, 

105 
Lombards and, 105-107 
Memorial Chapel of, 107, 114, 115 
St. Hospice, Cap de, 12, 104 

Emmanuel Philibert Tower on, 108, 

110, 111 
first Christian settlement at, 105 
Knights of St. John at, 108 
" Legend of the Stream of Blood " 

and, 108, 109 
Paganini buried at, 115 
Saracen fortress on, 108 
St. Hospice, Monastery of, 112 
St. Jean, Chapel of, at La Turbie, 

226 
St. Jean (town of), description of, 
109-110 
legend of, 108 
St. Jeannet, view of, from La Grande 

Corniche, 13 
St. Jeannet, Baou de, as landmark, 13 
St. John, Knights of, at Cap de St. 

Hospice, 109 
St. Lambert, tomb of, Vence Cathe- 
dral, 52 
St. Laurent Valley, pre-historic camp 

in, 259 
St. Mary, Chapel of, at Monaco, 144 
St. Paul du Var, 97 

Bishop of Vence takes refuge at, 56 
Church of, 103 
description of, 101 et seq. 
relics of St. George at, 103 
St. Pons, 12 
Abbey of, 39 
Charlemagne at 40 
convent at, 40 ; story of, 41 et seq. 
St. Roch, Chapel of, at Mont Justicier 

263 
St. Theobald of Mondovi, 294 
St. Tropez, 13 



314 



Index 



St. Trophime, burial-place of, at Aries, 
51 
cell of, in Montmajour Abbey, 52 
St. Veran, tomb of, Vence Cathedral, 

52, 63 
Saracens, at Eze, 119 
at La Turbie, 214, 218 
at Monaco, 144 
at Roquebrune, 252, 253 
Castillon captured by, 283 
defeat of, 4 

fortress of, on Cap St. Hospice, 108 
invasion of Riviera by, 4 
occupation of Vence by, 49 
sacking of Nice by, 49 
Savoy annexed by France, 21 
Savoy, Dukes of, and Nice, 20 

invasion of Riviera by, 57 
Segurana (" Donna Maufaccia ") and 

siege of Nice, 30, 34, 35 
Sisteron, description of, 92, 93 

Rongelime de Mirabeau at Convent 

of, 92 
ruins of convent of, 93, 94 
Sospel, 281 

Bishopric of, 287 
bridges at, 289 
Church of, 292 
description of, 286 et seq. 
fair at, 287 
fire at, 287 

Piazza di San Michele, 287 
pilgrimage to Laghet from, 288 
Place St. Michel, 292 
plague at, 287, 288 
river front of, 291 
Rue de la Republique, 290 
Rue du Chateau, 291 
Rue Pellegrini, 291 
Rue St. Pierre, 292 
wild boar and, 294 et seq. 
Southampton, attack on, by pirates 

from Eze, 121 
Spain, Domination of Monaco by, 176 et 
seq. 
Saracens in, 4 
Spezia, Via Aureliana at, 208 
Spinola, Lucinetta, marriage with 

Carlo I, 165 
Spinola, the, war between the Grim- 
aldi and, for Monaco, 161, 164 



" Storia della Monarchia Piemontese," 

Ricotti, 34 
Stowe, John, account of attack on 

Southampton by, 121 
"Annals," 121 
Surian, Bishop, story of, 53 
Swabians, invasion of Riviera by, 3 



Tallentyre, S. G., " Life of Mira- 
beau," 88 

Taurobolium, ceremony of, 51, 62 

Terrasses at Nice, 18 

Terrin, " Precis de l'Histoire de Pro- 
vence," 68 

Tete de Chien, 13, 112, 194, 209, 263 

" The Maritime Alps and their Sea- 
board," by Miss C. L. U. Demp- 
ster, 52, 85 

" The Riviera," 120 

" The Rivieras," by Augustus J. Hare, 
52, 146, 232, 266, 269 

" The Romance of Nice," by John D. 
Loveland, 26, 115 (footnotes) 

" The Vence Handbook," 61, 62, 63, 64 

Tiburge, wife of Count Aymes, story of, 
221-223 

Treets, Raimbaud de, story of, 44-48 

Trenca, Chevalier Carlo, and Mentone, 
268, 270 

Turbia, Roman town of, 208 (see La 
Turbie) 

Turks, attack on Eze by, 127 
sacking of Roquebrune, 254 



U 

Ughetta de Baus, wife of Blacas, 125 



Valentinois, Duchy of, conferred on 
Prince of Monaco, 180 

Valerianus, Lucius Veludius, com- 
memorative inscription to, at 
Vence, 50, 51, 62 

Vandals, invasion of Riviera by, 3 

Vence, as Defender of the Faith, 49 
et seq. 



315 



Index 



Vence — continued. 

Bishop Godeau of, 52, 53 

bishopric founded at, 52 

Black Death at, 56 

Boulevard Marcelin-Maurel, 60, 61 

Church of, 61 62 

converted to Christianity, 51 

description of, 59 et seq. 

East Gate of, 60 

history of, 49 et seq. 

Huguenots in, 54-58 

Merovingian carvings at, 62 

old town of, 65 

Place du Peyra at, 61 

Place Godeau, 64 

Place Wilson, 61 

Portail du Peyra, 61 

Portail Levis at, 61 

Roman inscriptions at, 50, 51, 62 

Romans at, 49, 50 

Rue de la Coste, 61 

St. Eusebius, first Bishop of, 62 

siege of, by Lesdiguieres, 58 

Signadour Gate at, 60 

tomb of St. Veran at, 63 

tombs of bishops in Cathedral of, 52 

tombs of Villeneuves at, 63 

view of, from La Grande Corniche, 13 

Villeneuves and, 53, 63 

watch tower of, 65 
" Vence," by J. D., 61 
Ventimiglia and Mentone, 268 
Ventimiglia, Counts of, 254, 256, 283, 
301 

Via Aureliana at, 208 
Ventium (Vence), Roman station of, 49 
Vento, the, and Mentone, 268 

Roquebrune sold to, 254 



Via Aureliana, as frontier boundary 
between Italy and Gaul, 209 
highest point of, 209 
milestones on, 260 
route of, 36, 194, 208, 279 
Vibia, commemorative inscription to, 

at Vence, 50, 51, 62 
Victor Amadeus III of Sardinia, 22 

(footnote) 
Victor Amedee pays homage to " Our 

Lady of Laghet," 233 
Villars, Marechal de, and monument at 

La Turbie, 219 
Villefranche, 112, 113 
citadel of, 113 
Paganini and, 114 

" The Great Ship " launched at, 114 
Villeneuve, Romee de, story of, 80 

et seq. 
Villeneuve-Bargemon, Marquis de, 

House of, at Grasse, 74 
Villeneuve-Loubet, Lords of, 53 
Villeneuve-Monans, Baron de, and 

Louise de Cabris, 90 
Villeneuves, the, and Vence, 53, 54 

tombs of, at Vence, 63 
Vinaigrier, Mont, La Grande Corniche 

and, 12 
Viteola, Guglielmo, story of wild boar 

and, 294 et seq. 
" Voyages dans les Departements du 
Midi de la France," by A. L. 
Millin, 51 



W 

William of Marseilles, Count of Pro- 
vence, defeats the Saracens, 4 



Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.4 

20.321 



/ 






